Love Shall Not Be Lost Forever
by bluespiritgal
Summary: Beauty & the Beast TV Series:Vincent has returned w/his son after rescuing him from the clutches of Gabriel & tries to begin a new life, but strange dreams keep pulling him back to his soulmate -fan fic novel meant to re-unite Vincent w/his ONE true love.
1. Intro

**Introduction to**

"**Love Shall Not Be Lost Forever"**

**Beauty and the Beast - Short Novel Fandom**

The setting for "Love Shall Not Be Lost Forever" takes place a short time after Jacob's Naming Ceremony, after Vincent has rescued his son out of Gabriel's clutches. The timeline excludes the last two episodes of the actual series which began an entirely new storyline before the series was abruptly cancelled. The short novel is meant to re-unite Vincent with his one true love while attempting to keep it true to the series.

While I working out the sequencing out of the last chapters, I've also revised some of my previously posted chapters based on your feedback and helpful criticisms posted and through emails - thanks for the support and encouragement.

For those unfamiliar with the Final Season or just want to refresh themselves, below is a brief summary of the events which happened in the saga episodes. **If you are familiar with the Final Season, just skip ahead to Chapter 1.**

The Rest is Silence

Following the twisted lies Paracelcus tried to make Vincent believe about his birth, Vincent becomes mentally unbalanced as he starts to loose an inner battle with his dark beastly side.

Delusional, he breaks into Catherine's apartment and collapses and Catherine spends three days with him trying to get him through the madness. He eventually returns below, but the deliriums continue again, and this time, fearing for the safety of his "family" against himself, he flees to the dark caves below to struggle with his madness alone. Father, Catherine and several others follow him down into the caves but it is Catherine who goes in alone to risking her very life to confront the demons that are slowly killing Vincent in front of her.

Lover's Be Lost, Part 1 & 2

Vincent nearly dies in the caves below battling his mental demons, but Catherine rescues him.

Meanwhile, Assistant District Attorney Joe Maxwell meets with a lawyer by the name of Patrick Hanlin who Joe knew in college though never considered a friend. Hanlin works for Malloy, Davidson and HNT, a big corporate trust firm with ties into most big development enterprises. Hanlin gives Joe a mysterious encoded black book containing information he tells Joe is "bigger, bigger than he could ever imagine" and will reveal what that meant once he's safely out of the country on his own terms. But Hanlin never gets the chance and is killed in a car bomb explosion which injures Joe severely.

In the hospital, Joe gives Catherine the book for safekeeping. Catherine tries to investigate the importance of the book. She gives a copy to District Attorney John Moreno, and then secretly asked for help from Elliot Burch and leaves the book with him.

Catherine learns she is pregnant with Vincent's child but because Vincent is still quite ill and recovering from his illness, including some severe memory loss, Catherine is unable to find a way to tell him. Also, Vincent has now lost his empathic bond with Catherine, no longer being able to sense her presence or when she is in danger.

Catherine is kidnapped violently from a police parking structure in the middle of the day and as she attempts to flee, Vincent who has lost his bond with her, has no idea she's in danger. As Catherine attempts to escape she runs into District Attorney John Moreno and her relief turns into a nightmare when she realizes the District Attorney is dirty.

Catherine is held in a warehouse where she is given drugs in an attempt to get her to tell them what she did with the book and who else she might have talked to about it. While being held captive, Catherine is able to send a pipe message down below and through this Vincent is able to locate her, but not in time to rescue her. She is whisked away in a car and vanishes.

Six months later Catherine is still missing. Vincent, Joe Maxwell and Elliot Burch have been trying to find her without luck.

Meanwhile, her abductor figures out the baby Catherine is carrying belongs to Vincent who was caught on video tape when Vincent had initially tried to rescue her. He decides to keep Catherine alive so he can take her baby.

A warning is sent to Elliot Burch when one of his luxury resorts goes up in flames and two hundred people are killed and Elliot suspects it is directly linked to Catherine's disappearance.

Joe is suspended from the D.A.'s office by his boss John Moreno, citing Joe's obsession to find Cathy has impacted his ability to function at his job. Joe argues with Moreno, but the suspension stands.

As the birth draws near, Vincent senses the child's existence and is eventually drawn to where she is being held. But he is too late the thwart the evil plans already in play. The baby is taken from Catherine right after delivery and Catherine is given a lethal dose of Morphine and left behind while her killer escapes with the baby via helicopter. Vincent, following the baby's heartbeat, is drawn up to the rooftop just as the helicopter departs and Vincent gets a good look at her killer.

Catherine somehow manages to climb up onto the roof and collapses into Vincent's arms. She tells him about the child before dying.

Walk Slowly

Vincent brings Catherine's body back to her apartment and grieves over her until he is forced to leave her and return to the Tunnels as dawn breaks. He tells Father he found her, but was too late to save her.

Joe Maxwell, still suspended from the D.A.'s offices arrives at Catherine's apartment while the coroner's team is still there and independently seeks the assistance of an expert profile investigator named Diana Bennett, to help with the case.

Joe and Catherine's friend Jenny arrange the funeral service for Catherine after realizing Cathy had no other living family left.

Vincent, grieving goes back to Catherine's apartment and retrieved a book. While there, Diana Bennett shows and Vincent sees her through the window. Diana realizes someone had been in the apartment and removed the book from Cathy's nightstand. She also finds a book given to Catherine signed Vincent.

Diana informs Joe that Catherine had been pregnant and had delivered a child shortly before her death. She questions Joe about Catherine's personal life and suspects Joe may have also been in love with her. From Joe, she learns about Elliot Burch. She also questions Joe about someone named Vincent from personal affects found in Catherine's apartment.

Diana confronts Elliot but gets no where.

Meanwhile, Vincent, still grieving returns to the cave he had retreated to and once again battles his beastly self, but wins when he finds Catherine's necklace lost in the dirt and then in sees a vision of his son.

Everyone from Below and Above, except for Vincent attends Catherine's funeral. Diana Bennett and her team take pictures of the mourners. Vincent's visits Cathy's grave later that night.

Nevermore

More determined than ever to find Catherine's killer, Vincent, Elliot Burch, Joe and profile investigator Diana Bennett each make separate plans. Meanwhile, Vincent contemplates revealing himself to Elliot, hoping he is willing to help him.

As Elliot independently probes deeper into Catherine's death, mysterious forces begin attacking his financial empire.

Vincent reveals himself to Elliot and tells him the location where Catherine was killed and also tells him he's seen the face of her murderer, but doesn't know his name.

Burch in turn tells Joe Maxwell, who is still suspended. He also tries to warn Joe that John Moreno, this District Attorney, is dirty though Joe doesn't believe him at first. Only later, after confronting Moreno in his office late at night does he find out the truth, but because of his suspension his hands are tied to do anything about it.

The head of Burch's private investigation team is murdered and left as a warning to Burch. Later Burch meets with Vincent late at night in the Carousal House in Central Park. Burch tells Vincent about Moreno being dirty. Vincent reveals to Burch that Catherine has a child and that her killer kidnapped him.

Diana discovers the secret tunnel under Catherine's apartment. Vincent orders the tunnel to be sealed up.

Moreno, suspecting Maxwell had gotten information from Burch, tells his boss, and when Burch again goes to meet Vincent in the Carousal House in Central Park, he is ambushed by Moreno. Vincent saves Elliot just in time, but is shot by Moreno. Vincent kills Moreno. Elliot gets a good look at Vincent for the first time, before Vincent flees back into the Tunnels.

Snow

Vincent dreams a strange dream about a blizzard coming down into the Tunnels and wakes up in his chamber running a fever. He is told Father removed two bullets from Vincent's chest. Vincent is very weak and has lost a lot of blood but fears danger is approaching.

The man who killed Catherine and now is raising her infant son, sends an assassin by the name of Snow to track down and kill Vincent. Snow wears a special ring very similar to Catherine's killer.

Meanwhile, profile investigator Diana Bennett investigates the tunnels further eventually coming out at the Central Park exit, whose door was exploded open by the assassin Snow. There she finds a chunk of cement with Vincent's name on it.

Vincent still weak and with his wounds re-opening, must confront Snow in a deadly cat and mouse game as Vincent leads Snow away from the community into some isolated unstable tunnels below. Snow tries to lure Vincent out with the ring but in the end he doesn't succeed when the cave roof collapses on top of him. And although Vincent never learns the name of the assassin, from him he learns the name of Catherine's killer: Gabriel.

Vincent is now in possession of the assassin's ring.

Beggar's Comet

Vincent contacts Elliot again. They meet secretly aboard a ship called the _Compass Rose_. Elliot Birch tells Vincent he's close to financial ruin as forces continue to professional squeeze him. Vincent gives Elliot the ring he took off the assassin and tells Elliot the man responsible for all Elliot financial trouble is named Gabriel. Elliot contemplates backing out, fearing he won't be able to win or survive, but eventually, reluctantly agrees to continue to help Vincent.

Joe, now promoted to the office of the District Attorney following Moreno's death, is faced with charging Elliot Burch with the death of Moreno after evidence points to Elliot as the prime suspect. Burch is jailed but refuses to tell anyone, including his lawyers what happened at the Carousal House the night Moreno was killed.

Elliot is bailed out by Jonathan Pope, one of Gabriel's aids, and is taken to Catherine grave for a secret meeting with Gabriel himself who gives Elliot the choice of having all his power restored if he betrays Vincent or join Catherine in her grave.

Meanwhile, profile investigator Diana Bennett has been doing a lot of investigating on her own having already discovered the secret tunnels under Catherine's apartment and strongly suspects this Vincent person is the father of Catherine's baby and has been her protector. Some of her theories she shared with Joe earlier, though Joe mostly dismisses them, still believing the case has more to do with the black notebook Patrick Hanlin had given him.

Diana begins to suspect Vincent may eventually turn up at Catherine's grave from personal affects she found in Catherine's apartment and stakes out the grave.

Elliot meets with Vincent again on the _Compass Rose_ with the intent of betraying Vincent, but at the last minute he can't go through with it and warns Vincent. Elliot jumps in front of a snipers bullet to save Vincent, as severely wounded, gives Vincent back the ring. A few seconds later, the _Compass Rose_ explodes.

While Diana stakes out the cemetery, Vincent suddenly appears and collapses on Catherine's grave.

A Time To Heal

Diana cares for Vincent for three days in her loft apartment after finding him collapsed on Catherine's grave. When Vincent eventually comes to his senses, he slowly tells Diana about himself and Catherine, about Gabriel and about his son. Vincent then returns to the Tunnels. She is filled with compassion for Vincent and his plight.

But Diana is now faced with a conflict of interest as Joe Maxwell continues to press her for answers in her investigation as Diana now tries to keep Vincent's identity a secret.

In the Forests of the Night

Rolley, a music protégé who used to be part of the Tunnel World below as a child, but ran away and as a young adult became addicted to heroin, returns to the Tunnels after being shot trying to rob a convenience store. Father and Vincent try to help him recover and kick his habit.

Vincent, angry, frustrated and loosing hope he will ever be able to find his son, takes his aggression out by destroying a drug lab which he only learns later from Diana belonged to Gabriel. Vincent and Diana argue as Diana tries to convince Vincent to let her help him.

After the lab is destroyed, Maxwell suspects Cathy's "protector" may have been involved and pressures Diana for answers. Diana tries to convince Joe that Vincent was just someone Cathy had made up, as a way of coping after she'd been attacked. Maxwell is not convinced and tells Diana that Catherine was "the sanest person he'd ever known," and intends to get to the bottom of this mystery with or without Diana's help.

Gabriel realizes Vincent is the one that destroyed his drug lab.

Rolley finally returns to the Tunnels for good and after over a decade of self abuse and guilt, finally starts playing the piano again, injecting Vincent with much needed hope that all things could be possible.

Vincent finally entrust Diana with Snow's ring.

Chimes at Midnight

Vincent dreams strange dreams about death.

Diana makes inquiries into Snow's ring which tips Gabriel off that she knows Vincent.

Diana is abducted, blindfolded and taken to Gabriel's secret estate where she is told Vincent's child is dying and wants her to convince Vincent to give himself up. She contacts Vincent and even though, he knows it's a trap, agrees to give himself up.

After Diana gives Vincent the message, she's now on the run from Gabriel's men feels she can no longer trust the police to help either suspecting Gabriel has several men in the police department also looking for her. But she also thinks she has a lead to finding Gabriel's estate, an unusual old tile pattern she noticed on the floor in the estate when she'd been abducted earlier.

When she doesn't hear back from Vincent, she gets worried and goes back down into the Tunnels to try and contact him. Tunnel sentries spot her.

Diana is then brought down to the Tunnels where she meets Father and Jamie. She tells them what happened to Vincent. She also tells Father she is cut off from her loft and her gun. Father gives Diana Catherine's gun, which Cathy had given him a long time ago when they had trouble in the Tunnel World by a band a renegade outsiders.

Father decides to take Diana's sketch of the tile pattern himself and hand deliver it Joe Maxwell. He tells Joe it's from Diana and when Joe asks why he should believe him, Father tells him because Catherine would want him to. Joe does a mass circulation of the tile pattern.

Meanwhile, Vincent is held in an electrified cage in the basement of Gabriel's secret estate. Samples of Vincent's blood are taken, but the doctor informs Gabriel they are an incompatible match for a transfusion Gabriel thinks will save the baby. Vincent tells Gabriel the baby doesn't need a transfusion, he need his father. Eventually Gabriel agree to let Vincent have contact with his son and for the first time though caged, Vincent is able to see and hold Catherine's child.

Invictus

After Vincent is able to hold his son, the baby makes a miraculous recovery.

When Gabriel comes to tell him the news, Vincent already knows, explaining to Gabriel about the bond shared between him and his son, something Gabriel will never have.

Gabriel then tries to convince Vincent to join him, explaining he can give the child unimaginable power, but Vincent refuses. Gabriel threatens to sever the bond by killing Vincent and Vincent explains, even in death, the bond can never die.

Diana is tailed by Helpers who bring her down to the Tunnels where she meets Father and Jamie. She tells them Vincent gave himself up to Gabriel because his son is dying. She also tells Father she is cut off from her loft and her gun. Father gives Diana Catherine's gun, which Cathy had given him a long time ago when they had trouble in the Tunnel World by a band of renegade outsiders.

Father decides to take Diana's sketch of the tile pattern himself and hand deliver it Joe Maxwell. He tells Joe it's from Diana and when Joe asks why he should believe him, Father tells him because Catherine would want him to. Joe does a mass circulation of the tile pattern.

Later, Joe meets Diana in the museum and Helpers stop an assassin from killing them both. Joe gets a lead on the tiles and while he organizing a raid, tells Joe she'll do what she can to slow Gabriel down, knowing he'll be tipped off by a dirty cop.

With the help of Father, Diana gets into Gabriel's estate through the secret tunnels just as Gabriel eventually decides to suffocate the baby, rather than let Vincent have his son back. Vincent senses Gabriel's intent, and in a last ditch effort, breaks free of the electrified cage causing a power outage in the entire estate.

He confronts Gabriel in the nursery just as Gabriel is about to suffocate his son and slashes Gabriel across he face. About to strike him down, Diana arrives and stops Vincent from killing him. She then tells him to take the baby into the tunnels where Father is waiting for him. Vincent leaves.

Gabriel thanks Diana and tells her it will only be a matter of time before he gets the baby back because of his power. Diana tells him "Not this time" and shoots him straight through the heart with Catherine's own gun.

Vincent returns to the Tunnel world and units with Father. Later they hold a special Naming Ceremony, Diana is invited to. Vincent names the baby, Jacob, after Father.


	2. Chapter 1

(While I'm working on sequencing the last chapters for this novel, based on your helpful critiques posted and through emails, I'm also attempting to clean up, and strengthen the previous chapters written, so the reposting is just some slight revisions. Thanks for your patience, your support and your comments, they have been most helpful.)

"Love Shall Not Be Lost Forever"

a Beauty and the Beast - Short Novel

by BSG

**Chapter 1 **

"_**Though lovers be lost love shall not;**_

_**And death shall have no dominion…"**_

Winter had fully settled in blanketing the city of New York with another four inches of snow, slowing the already congested traffic to an even greater standstill. Honking cars expressed their discontent as the mass of pedestrians with coats tightly buttoned and waist belts cinched against the freezing chill tried to maneuver across slick streets and along crowded sidewalks still banked in places with piles of grey dingy snow churned up from the army of snowplows that had already attacked the streets several hours earlier. The atmosphere of the city was cold, bleak and noisy.

But far below the city, far below its streets and subways, a warmer world existed, hidden. Here, in this underworld labyrinth of tunnels and caverns long forgotten, or lost or never known by most above, there was warmth and security and all sorts of interesting sounds. The soft constant metallic taps on the pipes and muffled whines from subways trains passing somewhere overhead were background lullabies echoing through the chamber's vaulted rock walls. These were mingled with murmured voices still new but becoming familiar with each passing day.

And it was these sounds the newborn infant heard first when he awoke from his nap staring up into a shadowy darkness enveloped in a warm flickering glow from a place that receded just beyond his vision, blocked by the walls of the bassinet in which he rested. The child lay for several long minutes gazing into the warm darkness listening with seeming interest until one murmured voice in particular seemed to catch his attention. The deep masculine tone with its soft comforting texture caused the baby to turn its head in the direction of the sound and a few minutes later a whimpered cry issued forth.

The face that appeared a few seconds later with its deep set eyes below rigid brows and half hidden in the shadows by a full mane of tawny colored hair had often elicited cries of alarm by strangers upon a first encounter, but to the baby, only caused his eyes to widen in recognition and to stem the tremble from his lips.

The face with its unique angular features, gazed down on the tiny being and seconds later, as if incapable of doing otherwise, large powerful hands with fingers strangely covered in fine red-golden fur and tapered claws instead of nails, reached down and scooped the tiny body up. Despite their menacing appearance, strength and size, the hands held the baby with great care.

The face, with its slightly flattened nose covered also in fine fur, its slightly protruding muzzle and wide mouth which hid the pair of glistening fangs just beneath, had the appearance of part man, part mythical lion, yet its gaze remained wondrously drawn to the child's finely arched eyebrows, the soft rounded cheeks, the full lips and curved jaw that had Catherine's imprint strongly upon him. Only the child's eyes, a deep sapphire blue which sparkled in the candlelight, mirrored those of his father who held him.

Father. To Vincent, the single word held such a great expanse of meaning he still could not fully fathom its depth for he had never even dared to dream its possibility. Though his grief over Catherine's death was still a raw, aching, seeping wound, her child, this child, so fragile and yet so strong was her greatest and last gift of love she could bequeath to him and Vincent savored it as a drowning man would savor a last sweet breath.

Catherine's child, his son, he had named Jacob in the Naming Ceremony a week earlier. He'd been named after the only man Vincent had every known as a father. All the community from his world Below and many of the Helpers from Above had attended the ceremony, and Vincent had felt their love and strength that day as they had surrounded his child in celebration, but also in comfort and shared grief in the absence of Catherine's presence.

Jacob let out a small coo before his small wandering fist found his mouth and began sucking vigorously on his fingers until they were covered in glistening drool. Vincent watched entranced by such a simple act. At well over six feet tall, with broad powerful shoulders, a thick sinew waist and long muscular legs which exhibited all the powerful grace of his namesake, before the child Vincent merely stood awed and humbled by the tiny soul.

"The two of you look so good together," a woman's voice spoke.

Vincent looked up at the older woman entering and smiled at Mary who carried a bottle of milk in her hand.

"Sometimes I think I cease to breath so caught up in the wonder of him."

Vincent, once abandoned as babe himself after being found on the steps of St. Vincent's Hospital, and brought below to the man who would save him and who would name him and raise him and to who Vincent would call Father, now stared down at the small helpless child in his arms and felt as if he'd come full circle.

"He's a beautiful child," Mary agreed.

"How could he be not? He's Catherine's after all."

Mary heard the unbridled pride in Vincent's voice, but also in its depths the deep melancholy born of loss. Her heart filled with compassion but also with concern for Vincent looked weary today. "You should be resting you know. You've only been back a short time and are still trying to recuperate from your ordeal."

Ordeal seemed such a paltry word, Mary thought, for what Vincent had endured these last many months following his illness, Catherine's death and Gabriel's torments.

"I feel fine, Mary," Vincent reassured.

"Father's worried. He said you were up late again last night, roaming the tunnels."

"I couldn't sleep," Vincent admitted to her, yet again, for this had been so for the last several nights.

Mary, about to say more, decided against it. Instead, she handed the bottle of warmed milk to Vincent then went about collecting the few pieces of infant clothing that needed to be washed while he quietly sat down on his bed. Mary had been lucky to find a generous female Helper, she had explained after the child soon arrived, willing to donate the milk. Vincent was grateful for the child seemed to be thriving.

Though Vincent was used to being around children all his life, for the children Below always seemed to gravitate towards him without the fears and mistrust most adults harbored at his appearance, holding and feeding one so small, so vulnerable was vastly different. Yet…Vincent seemed to sit with ease as he watched Jacob greedily down the bottle with eyes fixed on his father's face.

Ever since Vincent had rescued the baby from Gabriel's clutches, the mysterious bond between father and son that had been established continued to grow stronger with each passing day. This empathic bond Vincent had once shared with Catherine, but severed during the dark days of his mental illness, was something that continued to plagued him with guilt, for its loss had cost Catherine her life in the end.

Once Jacob finished his feeding, Vincent cradled the infant on his shoulder and felt him melt into his chest. Closing his eyes, he sensed the tiny heartbeat and the warm flow of the bond they shared like the gentle breezes felt in the Whispering Gallery. Its bliss was sweet and magical.

Then all of a sudden he became aware of someone calling his name. Startled, his body shifted and the sudden movement caused the baby to whimper but soon he drifted off to sleep again.

"What is it?" Mary asked.

Vincent eye's darted around the chamber, but only he and Mary were present. "Nothing," he finally said, sinking back into the pillows propped up on his bed.

About to say more, the old woman was interrupted by the arrival of Cullen and Pascal. They were maneuvering something bulky between them through the chamber entrance. A few seconds later, a beautiful hand carved wooden trunk was set down in front of Vincent who cocked his head in surprise.

"What's this?" Vincent asked.

"A gift," Cullen replied shifting his weight slightly back and forth as he stood in the center of the chamber, then added, "For Jacob. I meant to have it done before the Naming Ceremony, but didn't have enough time to finish it."

Handing the sleeping baby to Mary, Vincent stepped over to the chest admiring its lush antique finish and carved craftsmanship. In amazement, Vincent's attention was drawn to the design carved on the lid. It was an oval chain of small roses, each petal, each leaf intricately created in every detail. In the center of the circle two hands cupped one another, palms up, one small and delicate; the other larger and more masculine, with fine fur on the back of the fingers and hand, and sharp talons at the tips. Within the open palm of the woman's hand a single rose rested in full bloom.

Muscles tightened in his throat as Vincent caressed the lovingly etched depiction. Almost instinctively his free hand dropped to the small leather pouch he always wore around his neck.

He closed his eyes briefly before looking up at the wood carver. "It's beautiful, Cullen, by far your finest piece ever created."

Cullen's mouth split into a wide grin. Pascal smiled as well, nudging his taller friend in the ribs before leaning over and whispering. "I told you he'd like it."

"It's a hope chest," the wood carver added as Vincent continued to examine the chest. "So Jacob will always have a place to store his most treasured memories."

"Hope…what a fitting word." Vincent was clearly moved by Cullen's insight and generosity. He stood up then reached over and squeezed his friend's shoulder. "Thank you for this remarkable gift. Jacob and I will treasure it always."

It was Cullen's turn to get all chocked up and all he could do was nod.

A quiet sort of silence followed only interrupted by the continued coded metallic panging on the pipes overhead. Pascal, out of habit, tilted one of his overly large ears to listen, nodding silently to himself as he heard the message and reply.

"Who's manning the pipes?" Vincent inquired curiously for Pascal seldom left the sanctuary of the Pipe Chamber room; his love for the "music" created on the pipes was as great a passion as any master of music appreciates great lyrical compositions.

"I left Zach in charge," Pascal replied, then added with a fair amount of pride, "He's showing great promise of late," for indeed, the young orphaned teenaged seemed to have as much of a natural ear and an eagerness to learn the ways of pipe communications as Pascal had when his own father had taught him.

"Anything of great interest?" Vincent inquired.

"It's Jamie letting us know she's got the supplies we need to fix one of the pumps in the lower chamber, but she needs help getting them down."

Maintaining the aging pumps and pipes which passed through their world was a constant job, not only to prevent flooding into some of the lower chambers, or diverting water from the major access tunnels during large storms, but also to prevent detection from work crews Above that might be sent down in the event of a major rupture.

"I'll go help her," Vincent replied.

"You'll do nothing of the sort!" Mary quipped. "Father wanted you to rest today."

"I feel fine, Mary," Vincent insisted.

Mary started to protest, but Vincent interjected. "I promise, Mary, I will come back and rest once I help Jamie." Vincent then went over and caressed Jacob's forehead, before looking up at the older woman with a sparkle in his sapphire eyes adding in rich teasing tones, "Besides, this will give you a chance to spoil my son."

"Trying to throw my own weakness back in my face isn't going to work. Father left strict orders!" Mary countered.

"But Father isn't here right now, and Jamie needs the help," Vincent said simply and then cocked his head to the side in a way that reminded Cullen of how Luke, now a very active toddler, innocently pleaded his case to his mother Olivia for an extra dessert after supper. The wood carver tried to hide the smirky grin threatening to split across his face by clearing his throat softly as Vincent, using those same quiet rich tones added, "Besides, who better that I should entrust my son to than the woman who helped raise me with such a compassionate heart?"

And then as if father and son were in cohorts, Jacob opened his eyes and yawned and a bubbly smile appeared upon his lips as he looked up at Mary.

Mary's reserve started to crumble and Cullen quickly stepped in before she could fortify her defenses. "Don't worry Mary, I'll go with him and make sure he stays out of trouble."

Then, before she could protest further, the Cullen practically pushed Vincent out of the chamber, for what Cullen knew Vincent needed the most was distractions.

According to the pipe message Jamie was waiting at one of the East access points not far from the Ramos family auto shop. Tony Ramos, the spunky streetwise fourteen year-old, had become a Helper ever since Catherine had reunited him with his grandfather and he often helped find needed parts for repairs. The only stipulation Father had for his assistance was the parts had to be legally salvaged. Tony had given his word as a Gypsy that they were, though Vincent sometimes wondered how far the exact truth on the point was stretched.

As Vincent and Cullen walked through the tunnels, they chatted pleasantly sharing a few stories, mostly about the children who of late had been trying desperately to figure out what Cullen was making for them for Winterfest this year. But the wood carver was keeping it a tight secret.

"So what _are_ you making?" Vincent inquired with a slight tilt to his head.

But Cullen would only smile back and continued walking at a steady even pace.

_Vincent…where are you?_

The voice echoed through the tunnel, making Vincent halt in his tracks. Quickly he looked about. Then directly ahead he thought he saw a slim shadowy figure running down the tunnel. When the figure disappeared around a bend Vincent had the strongest of urges to give chase. When he rounded the corner, the apparition slipped into the shadows. Again he heard his name being called by the voice that sounded lost, confused. He raced to the end of the tunnel but when he reached it, he was alone.

"Vincent?"

He turned to see Cullen standing next to him, in the same spot he'd been before, and his eyes narrowed.

"Are you alright?" Cullen asked. "You seemed to check out on me for a moment."

Vincent looked back down the empty tunnel, confused. He then reached out and touched Cullen's shoulder in assurance. "I'm fine. I'm sorry. I guess my thoughts just wandered."

"It's all right. I get that way too a lot," Cullen jested. "Come on. It shouldn't be much farther to walk."

Vincent followed, but his mind was now distracted by the strange vision whose imprint only left one image on his mind…Catherine.

When they finally reached their destination, Jamie was waiting for them along with Tony.

"Vincent! Cullen!" Jamie waved to them excitedly.

Tony stood up from his sitting position on the tunnel floor brushing the dust off his jeans, and as Vincent's massive frame came into view, the boy looked upon him with an aura of intimidating awe. It had been several months since Tony had seen him and his large regal lion-like appearance still took some getting used to. To ease the boy's discomfort, Vincent inquired about Tony's grandfather who had been ill.

"Oh, he's fine. He's up and about driving my grandmother crazy," he said in his thick Brooklyn accent.

Vincent smiled at this, then reached down and helped Cullen and Jamie gather up the wooden boxes filled with various tools and parts. He thanked Tony for all his help and asked if there was anything they could do for Tony or his family but the boy shook his head.

"Helping me to clear my father's name so I could be part of my family again is thanks enough. I owe Catherine and all of you a big debt and we Gypsies believe in paying our debts!"

Vincent bowed his head in acceptance of his generosity.

As they made to depart, Tony stepped over to Jamie. "You need any help carrying this stuff down?"

"No. We've got it covered from here," was her quick response.

"Oh." Tony sounded a bit disappointed.

"But thanks anyway," Jamie replied before hastening her way down the tunnel.

"Sure, no problem. Glad I could be of help," Tony called out to her retreating back sounding a bit awkward.

Cullen and Vincent looked at each other but said nothing as they followed Jamie.

"Is something the matter?" Vincent inquired of Jamie when they finally caught up to her.

Jamie darted a look at Vincent and shook her head in irritation. "No! Why would you think that?"

"You seemed a bit abrupt with Tony," Cullen remarked.

Jamie sighed. "It's just that he's uh…a bit irritating."

"Oh? I didn't notice." Vincent replied and thought he saw Jamie roll her eyes and blush in annoyance.

"Come on! Let's just get this stuff down to Mouse before I want to puke!" was the teenager's reply.

Cullen chuckled under his breath while Vincent remained silent, though a faint smile crossed his lips.

When they reached the junction, which was actually a long iron ladder that went from an upper lever chamber to a much lower one, Mouse was, to no one's great surprise, not there.

"He's supposed to meet us here. Wonder where he's gone off to this time!" Jamie said with some annoyance, now sweaty and her arms aching from carrying the wooden box such a long distance.

"I'm sure he'll be here," Vincent replied, then looked at Cullen, "Eventually."

Cullen grinned, for he knew, like everyone else, that sometimes the concept of time had little meaning for Mouse. As Mouse had put it so simply to Father once, "early" was when Mouse arrived before everyone else, "late" was when he arrived after everyone else. Punctuality didn't seem to be a particular word of understanding.

Several minutes later though, a head wearing a football helmet and flashlight device popped up from the ladder below, attached to a rounded youthful face covered in dirt.

Mouse climbed the rest of the way up. "Waited…long time…wondered if you would come…went exploring." A white flash of teeth suddenly appeared beneath the dirt though when he saw Vincent was among them.

"It was a long walk," Vincent explained.

Mouse didn't seem particularly distressed by the fact it had taken them time to reach him. Instead, he held up several chunks of indiscernible rocks caked in grim for the group to examine. "Look…found these," he said excitedly.

"What are they?" Jamie inquired.

"Spark rocks," Mouse said, rubbing some of the grim from the surface with his dirty fingers. "Strike together…sparks…makes fire."

"Flint rock," Cullen replied.

Mouse nodded. "Tons down below….Good, yes…good, fine?"

"Very good," Vincent replied.

Mouse smiled, pleased. Pocketing the stones into a satchel he wore over his shoulder, Mouse then turned his attention to the supplies they had brought down. He picked up one piece and then another turning them over, admiring them. "Good stuff…fine stuff. Need to bring them below."

Together, they bundled the boxes into several canvas carrying sacks.

"This is the part I hate," Jamie grumbled. "It's such a long way up and down this ladder, especially when you need to make several trips."

Mouse leaned over the side. "Could make something…I'm sure…a thing to ride on…a cable here, a gizmo there…" He nodded his head to himself. "I'll think about it."

"I'm sure you will," Vincent agreed for Mouse was constantly dreaming of things that could improve the community, even if sometimes his inventions didn't always work the way he intended, or his ideas were a little too grandiose for practicality.

Cullen rolled his eyes towards Jamie, who grinned back.

"Okay, good. Okay, fine," Mouse smiled his mind already churning over numerous ideas by the look on his face.

"But in the meantime…" Vincent picked up the heaviest satchel and slung it effortlessly over his shoulder, then started down the ladder. Jamie and Mouse soon followed while Cullen stayed up top and fed the other two sacks down attached by a rope.

For the next few hours the small group worked to repair the broken parts to the pump. First they had to remove the old pump from a jointed section of pipe about two feet in diameter and about equal in length and were grateful for Vincent's superior strength when several of the old bolts proved difficult to remove. Once done, Vincent and Cullen worked to wiggle the section free of the joint, but where it was located in the section of tunnel was proving difficult to access with little room to maneuver around.

Cullen ducked under the pipe to get into a better position. Just then one of the support brackets snapped and the section of pipe suddenly gave way. Vincent grabbed it before it could hit Cullen in the head. The pipe impacted heavily on the top of his shoulder making Vincent grunt in pain as dust and small rocks rained down on top of them. Jamie yanked Cullen clear then Vincent slowly lowered the heavy section of metal pipe to the ground. He then stood up rubbing his injured shoulder.

"Vincent…you all right?" Mouse asked, instantly at his side.

He nodded though his shoulder still throbbed.

"Thanks, Vincent. Owe you one," Cullen replied.

The wood carver then went over and picked up the broken bracket looking at it with disgust. It was almost completely rusted out. He then looked at the rest of the support brackets in this particular section of tunnel and found them to be in similar poor condition. With an irritated scowl on his face, he said, "These are going to need to be replaced soon, unless we want to see this whole section of pipe collapse with the next big storm surge."

Mouse examined the bracket. "More of these things I can get easy, no problem…know a good place," he replied. "Won't take long to fix."

Cullen was less than enthusiastic. There was _always_ something that needed to be fixed! Over the years Cullen had learned his natural talents were not limited to wood carving, for like many of the other Dwellers, he had learned to be versatile with the needs of the community and had become quite proficient in masonry, plumbing and occasionally electrical work. But that didn't mean he always liked the fact that he spent the better part of his day trying to fix something else broken in this hole in the ground. Nonetheless, he wasn't one to complain. It may be a hole in the ground indeed, but it was still the best home he'd ever known!

By the time they had finished the job, several hours had passed. Jamie and Mouse took off together for Mouse's chamber while Cullen and Vincent returned to the upper level. Cullen departed to his own chamber hoping to get a few hours in on his "secret" project. Vincent wished him luck, though Cullen still refused to give him a hint to what he was making.

With his shoulder still stiff, but in a happier mood at being able to help out, Vincent headed back to his own chamber, but first decided to pass through into Father's to retrieve a book he'd left there earlier the night before.

Though Father's chamber was one of the largest, it was also the most cluttered. Its two levels, connected by an iron corkscrew staircase, had books and piles of scrolls and maps of every possible fashion stacked about in nearly precarious towers everywhere, for Father had run out of enough shelves and cases to store them in long ago.

As Vincent's tall frame ducked through the side tunnel passage and entered, descending down the short set of iron steps, he found Father standing in the middle of the room. The old man glanced up over the wire rimmed glasses resting just below the bridge of his nose and Vincent immediately read the disapproval in his eyes.

"Hello Father."

But Father was apparently not in the mood for idle chit chat and spoke in serious tones with his characteristic remnants of a British accent. "Mary said you went with Cullen to help Jamie."

"Yes."

"That was several hours ago. Was there any trouble?"

"No, no really. A pump needed to be repaired. It took longer than expected," Vincent calmly explained.

Vincent found his book, but when he bent down to retrieve it, he grimaced from the pain in his shoulder.

"You're hurt!" It wasn't a question.

"It's nothing Father, just a bruise." Vincent explained what happened.

Father's eyebrows lowered in disapproval. "Vincent, you should not have gone!"

"Mouse needed the help," was Vincent's simple reply.

"There are plenty of able body men down here who could have and would have been willing to help with that job. I left strict orders that you were to rest today!" His voice was stern.

"Father, I felt fine and I wanted to help."

"And not two days ago, I found you collapsed in the Great Hall and you had no idea how you'd gotten there!" His father exploded. He took a deep breath trying his best to calm himself before speaking again. "Vincent, I know how important it is for you to be actively involved in the community and I know you think I am being overly protective of you right now." Leaning on his cane, Father moved closer to his adopted son and took off his glasses which he did often when becoming exasperated. "But, your system has gone through a massive shock. And, though I have no doubt that your body has a remarkable recuperative ability, it does have its limits, even if you don't want to admit it. And these episodes you've been experiencing lately are a sign you should listen to. _You need to give your body a chance to heal_." Father emphasized the last sentence, completely flustered at his son.

Vincent knew his father was justified in his concern. The evening following his return from Gabriel's estate he had collapsed complaining of pain in his chest and Father had suspected this had been due to the trauma Vincent had suffered by the immense voltage which had coursed through his body when Vincent had broken free of the electrified cage Gabriel had imprisoned him in an attempt to rescue his son. The voltage would have easily killed a lesser man, but because of Vincent's unique physiology, he had remarkably survived. For several days Vincent was monitored carefully and since then Father had left strict orders for him to take it easy, including refraining from any form of physical work.

And knowing Vincent had deliberately done just the opposite today, made Father livid. It wasn't that Vincent had set out to mock Father's concern, it was just that his own restlessness of late prevented him from being idle for hours on end.

However, seeing his father's agitated state, Vincent walked over to the older man. At well over six feet, Vincent was at least a full head taller. He leaned down and kissed his father on the top of his head. With sincere husky soft tones that always made it difficult for Father to stay angry with him, he apologized. "I'm sorry I have distressed, Father."

With that, Vincent took his leave, leaving Father alone in his chamber, the stormy winds of his anger blowing down into a calmer but still irritated breeze as he went and sat down in his chair. Father worried about everyone in the Tunnel World below, but Vincent he worried most about.


	3. Chapter 2

(Revised chapter - meant to correct errors and tighten chapter up a bit based of your feedback, thanks)

**Chapter 2**

Joe Maxwell sat hunched over his desk trying to read yet another brief as a mountain of growing files threatened to bury him alive.

It had been just a little over two weeks since the raid on Gabriel's estate and the Manhattan District Attorney's office was still trying to sort everything out. The effects from raid which had resulted from the investigation into Cathy's death had exposed the existence of the criminal under lord and its effects were just starting to ripple through the rest of his network. Like roaches in a dark room in which the lights had suddenly been flicked on, the dirty filth had begun to scattered into their shadows and dark holes, but some had not been so quick.

Two more officers within the police department had been linked to Gabriel's syndicate which had sent the Commissioner into a rage, vowing he'd shake the entire Department down to its very foundations to root any one else out.

The throng of activity continued to swarm in the department and, as the current District Attorney, Maxwell's own office had become a revolving door as lawyers and investigators continued to bring bits and pieces of information and evidence that would probably take months to fit together and to which the Feds were eager to obtain. In addition to confiscated computer files, the raid had also yielded a sizeable cache of weapons, money, priceless artwork and antiquities which were still being sorted out.

But in addition to the evidence collected from the raid, the District Attorney's office had other problems stemming from the revelation that the former District Attorney, John Moreno, had been linked to organized crime. The D.A.'s office was currently being swamped with appeals and at the forefront and to Maxwell's intense infuriation was the Avery case, the case against the development racketeer that he and Cathy had sweated more than six grueling months to prosecute.

Andrea, Maxwell's receptionist, brought him a fresh cup of coffee and another stack of files. She handed the mug to Joe, and then looked around for a place to put the files finally setting them on a nearby chair.

"Your "in-box" has exploded," the smartly dressed African American woman commented.

"Tell me about it! Are the sharks still swimming out there?"

Andrea smiled. "And growing in numbers waiting for the feeding frenzy to begin. Don't forget your meeting with Judge Hathaway on the Avery Case at two, and Detective Riley is still waiting on your opinion about what do with those coroner's reports. Also the FBI wants to know when they can expect your team to meet with them for an update."

"Have you heard from Diana Bennett yet?"

"Sorry. I left another message on her machine, no answer."

Joe let out a frustrated grunt. "Try the # 210 again."

"Sorry, Joe, Captain Morrison is still out on special duty. Won't be back until next week."

"Damn! All right. Just let me know when she checks in." Maxwell was getting more and more annoyed with the special investigator who was suppose to have given him an update two days ago on her profile into Gabriel and his network. He looked into the dark cup of coffee, sighing wearily. "I sure hope you made this stuff strong!"

Andrea departed with a sympathetic smile and Joe went back to work attempting to read the same paragraph he'd been trying to read for the last fifteen minutes. Finally, he just tossed his pencil aside and rubbed his tired eyes.

Forgetting the work for a moment, he opened one of the side drawers in his desk and pulled out a single file. Opening the folder he extracted a picture on top of the collection of "official" reports mingled with his own personal notes scratched in the margins and written on various sized pieces of paper.

Cathy's face looked up at him, laughing in some captured moment, full of life. The picture, he'd retrieved from her apartment, had been taken at some party or another. He'd used it originally as a reference picture in his initial investigation into her disappearance now over eight months ago. It seemed such a long time until he looked at the photo.

Even though Joe felt some peace and a sense of justice that her killer had been found and that Gabriel could never do such evil again, he missed Radcliff, a lot. To Maxwell, not only had she'd been one of his leading field investigators, and a good lawyer, but also a damn good friend.

Thinking back, Joe would have never thought this daughter of a rich corporate lawyer and Radcliff educated socialite could have left such an impact on so many people, but she had. When she'd first applied for a job at the D.A.'s office, it had almost been a joke in Joe's opinion. But Catherine had proved him wrong in so many ways. Instead of the pampered socialite looking for a few months adventure as he'd expected, he'd found Cathy to intelligent, energetic, compassionate and _passionate_ about her cases. She had thrived in the job. To her, witnesses were never file numbers and statistics but people with real problems and real fears who needed help, support, understanding and justice and it wasn't long before Cathy had been considered department "family" and had gained Joe's respect and friendship.

A knock on the door frame interrupted his thoughts. Detective Gregory Hughs poked his head in. "Got a minute?"

Maxwell replaced the picture and returned the file to his drawer. "Sure, what's up?"

"Got some good news, docs say Jonathan Pope is going to survive."

"Is he talking?"

Hughs shook his head. "Not yet, he's still unconscious."

Jonathan Pope, a high powered lawyer and one of the crime lord's top aides had tried to escape Gabriel's estate with another man by helicopter during the raid, but NYPD air support had forced them down. Unfortunately the pilot had lost control and the chopper had crashed.

"Well let's just see if we can keep him alive long enough to see if he's willing to co-operate."

"Don't worry, Boss, I've got a team assigned to him 24/7, all guys I trust _personally_," assured the seasoned detective out of the 33rd Precinct who had been promoted and was now assigned as the lead investigator in the Gabriel Crime Network Task Force. In addition to having known Cathy personally and having always admired the gutsy young woman, Hughs was also one ticked off detective because if there was one thing he couldn't stand was a dirty cop.

"Good. I want to know as soon as he wakes up!"

"You and the Feds," Hughs agreed. "We also got an I.D. on the other man killed in the chopper. His name's Horace Beacon, a "consultant" for a security firm Malloy Davidson has been known to use, with a specialty in muscle."

"Nice. What about the evidence on board the chopper?"

"Well, not so good there. Most of it was toasted when the chopper exploded."

SWAT teams had pulled the men out of the chopper after it had crashed, but a busted fuel line had led to an explosion only a few minutes later. Inside the chopper, several boxes which had apparently contained computer files and VHS tapes had been found. Unfortunately they were pretty much a mass of melted congealed abstract lumps of plastic by the time they were recovered.

"Forensics is trying to fit the pieces back together but it doesn't look hopeful we'll get much."

"Damn! What about the stuff from the estate then?"

"What wasn't destroyed is mostly encrypted. Lucky the power went out before the raid or we probably wouldn't even have that."

Indeed it had been a lucky break. When the task force had hit the estate it was completely in the dark and it had made it a lot easier to breech Gabriel's defenses. When the data couldn't be deleted, Gabriel's men had tried to physical destroy the equipment by smashing it then dousing it with gasoline and setting it on fire. Luckily they'd been stopped before everything was completely destroyed.

Hughs continued. "We sent most of the stuff over to specialists at the Bureau to be analyzed but it's a slow process. However, we did get a partial back on a few items. One looks promising, possibly linking Gabriel to an offshore holding company in the Cayman Islands through guess who?

"Malloy Davidson & Hanover Norton Trust?"

"You got it! The other we got a little luckier on…" The detective handed a copy of the report.

Joe held up his hand. "Please, I got enough on my desk as it is. Just give me the Cliff note version."

Hughs sat down in a chair across from Joe's desk. "It's information on Elliot Burch."

"Burch?" Joe said with some surprise. "What kind of information?"

The detective leaned back in his seat and crossed his ankle over one knee, fiddling with a toothpick in his hand he'd taken out of his mouth just a few moment's earlier. "Lists of Burch's financial records, his holding companies and profiles of those closest to him, including Cathy, his lawyers and security men. There was also a list of all his properties and resorts around the world. At the top was that luxury resort that burned down a few months ago, you remember, the one that made headline news."

Joe recalled it clearly. More then two hundred people had been killed in the blazing inferno fire that had swept through the high-rise casino resort and had generated a lot of bad press for Burch Properties.

"From the looks of it my guess was Burch was being professionally squeezed," Hughs continued.

Joe could only agree. Even before Burch had started poking privately around into Cathy's disappearance and her death, Joe explained to Hughs, he'd been in trouble. About a year and a half ago the CIA had become interested in Burch's affairs. But it was only after Cathy's disappearance had things really started to go sour for him. The man was almost in complete financial ruin before the final blow had come when Joe had been forced to charge him with District Attorney Moreno's murder. It hadn't been an easy thing to do, considering Burch had been the one to initially tip Joe off to Moreno's link to Gabriel and his network.

"Burch adamantly denied the charges from the start, but he also adamantly refused to tell any of us what really happened the night Moreno was killed in the Carousal House," Maxwell reflected to Hughs. "But I think the man was really running scared."

Hughs scratched his head. "In hindsight, it now makes sense," the detective commented. "Morneo must have been sent to take care of Burch that night. When he botched the job and got himself killed instead, Gabriel succeeded later on the _Compass Rose_." Though Burch's body had yet to be recovered, the magnitude of the explosion of the ship and the insistence by his security men that he'd been aboard, left little doubt Burch could have ever survived.

"Also Moreno wasn't shot, he was mauled to death," Joe explained.

"Mauled?"

"Yeah, like he'd been attacked by some animal or something. Same way we found a couple of Gabriel's henchmen, who were all fully armed by the way, inside the estate after the raid. Some way Gabriel's cheek had been clawed."

"What do you make of that?"

"I don't know," Maxwell said. "But check this out. Burch's body guards said he been meeting someone secretly in both the Carousal House in Central Park and again later on the _Compass Rose_ and he'd always insisted on going in alone while his body guards waited outside."

"Who do you think he was meeting?"

"I don't know, but I suspect it was someone Elliot hired and probably his source for the information he'd given me about Moreno and on the location where Cathy had been murdered."

Maxwell may have disliked the man intensely for his own personal reasons, but Elliot had been dead on in his facts. Joe also sensed the man had been genuine about wanting to help Joe find Cathy's killer and in trying to warn him about Moreno.

"You think it was one of Cleon Manning's men?" Hughs asked.

Joe shrugged. Cleon Manning ran a high class and expensive private investigative firm, one Elliot had utilized for years apparently. Unfortunately Manning had been brutally killed just shortly before Moreno's own death and there was little doubt now who had been responsible.

Detective Hughs rubbed his chin in thought. "Though the address where Cathy was killed was pretty well gutted out by the time our guys had a chance to comb through it, it still proved useful to the case. We were able to link it back to a holding company represented by Malloy, Davidson & HNT which I'm sure we'll be able to eventually tie into Gabriel," Hughs said. "So are you thinking this source, the one Burch had been meeting secretly with may have been the one who killed Moreno trying to protect Elliot, and may also have been in Gabriel's estate before the raid?"

Maxwell shrugged. "It's a theory."

Gregory whistled.

"There's one person who may have the answer," Maxwell said.

"Who?"

"The only other person inside that estate before Special Forces busted in."

"Diana Bennett?"

Joe nodded, "Diana Bennett."


	4. Chapter 3

(Revised chapter - meant to correct errors and tighten chapter up a bit based of your feedback, thanks)

**Chapter 3**

Diana Bennett sat cross-legged in the middle of Gabriel's main office as she intently examined the collection of various papers and pictures scattered about while twirling something around in her fingers. In hopes of using her profiling expertise to help unravel the rest of Gabriel's crime network, Joe had made special arrangements with Captain Morrison of the # 210 to retain Diana indefinitely, but Diana wanted to stay on the case for other reasons she kept to herself.

In a pair of faded denim jeans and a loose oversized sweater which hid her slim figure in its bulk, she looked very different from her professionally dressed colleagues milling about as. Her long auburn hair was pulled haphazardly back into a loose ponytail and she wore minimal make-up. Her vibrant green eyes, the product of a proud Irish ancestry, looked over a pair of wire-rimmed sunglasses pulled down to the bridge of her nose as she rearranged a couple of photos, then sat back thinking. And sitting there, she looked more like an innocent teenager perusing a collection of adolescent magazines than a hard core cynical investigator in her late twenties who had profiled more heinous crimes than she cared to count.

Detective Tom Farrell, a veteran detective in his late forties and also part of the Task Force Team, strode across the room. "Hey Bennett! Maxwell wants to see you in his office," he called out.

"Why?" Diana asked, not bothering to look up for something was nagging her.

Now standing next to her, with his hands on his hips and looking over her shoulder at the collection of items on the floor, he replied, "Says he's still waiting on that progress report."

Diana picked up another photo, looked at it, then set it down again, before letting out a short abrupt sigh. "When I have something to tell him, I'll let him know."

Farrell held up his hands in feigned defense and then smirked. "Hey, don't take it out on me. I'm just the paid messenger boy, here."

Diana glanced up at the detective. "Sorry. Thanks, Farrell."

The detective then squatted down to get a closer look at what she was doing. It was then he noticed the object she was twirling about in her hand. "What that?" he asked curiously.

There was a long pause. "A ring."

"I can see that. Where'd you get it?"

"It was found on the floor after the raid," Diana explained.

The detective plucked it out of her hand and looked at it "Funny, I don't remember seeing it catalogued as evidence before."

Diana shrugged.

Farrell took a closer look at. It was a man's ring, made of gold with an inlayed dark jewel in its center. "Looks pretty old and expensive."

"It is," she said, taking the ring back and stuffing it into a pocket. She then picked up several more photos of Gabriel's body taken from the crime scene as if trying to compare them to each other.

"So what's bugging you anyway? You've been staring at that stuff for hours."

Just then something seemed to pop in her head. "I need to go check something out," she said suddenly gathering the papers up and stuffing them haphazardly back into a file.

"You got something?" Farrell asked his interest peaked.

Diana hedged. "I don't know, maybe just hunch, maybe another wild goose chase. I'll let you know when I decide."

Farrell chuckled. "You just do that. And don't forget about Maxwell," he called to her retreating back. "He's under the impression you've been avoiding him."

Diana turned back around, grinning. "If you'd seen the mood of the District Attorney of late, you would be too. See ya later, Farrell."

Forty-five minutes later, Diana was in the evidence locker of the Manhattan Coroner's Office. After showing the proper identification, a box was brought in by an officer who handed her a clipboard to sign then left the room. Diana opened the cardboard container whose contents were packaged in clear plastic bags and labeled with the case number. She looked through the contents then back to the original itemized list, then looked again.

"It's not here," she said to herself.

She then headed over to the main coroner's office and at the receptionist's desk asked to see Dr. Marks, the chief coroner, but was told he was still in the middle of an autopsy down the hall in room five.

Diana had to wait another thirty-five minutes outside the exam suite before Dr. Marks finally came out. She had learned early on in her past associations with the Chief Coroner, that Dr. Marks intensely hated to be interrupted during an autopsy, a fact she had been rather rudely reminded of the day she had attempted to observe the autopsy on Catherine Chandler. Diana had been practically ejected out of the exam room.

A man in his late fifties, Dr. Marks always appeared to be in a nervous rush and today was no exception. When he finally exited the exam suite, he looked less than pleased to see her as he donned his white lab coat and headed briskly down the hall.

"Dr. Marks," she raced after him. "I need to speak with you."

Not slowing his pace, he said over his shoulder. "I'm really quite busy at the moment, Ms. Bennett. We've been swamped here, as well as you can understand with recent events."

"Yes, I know," Diana matched her pace to the older man and using her most authoritative voice said, "But this is important; I need to talk to you about your examination of Gabriel."

Dr. Marks' pace slowed slightly. "Whatever for?" He said rather haughtily. "You have my official report already, which of course is no surprise to you."

"It's not about the death," Diana replied rather edgily. "It's something else regarding my official profile investigation of the man himself."

One of Dr. Marks' assistances came over and interrupted them, handing the coroner a clipboard. "Your next case is ready sir, and Simon also has finished preparing the liver slides you requested."

Dr. Marks nodded, but upon seeing Diana's determined face, he let out a deep nasally sigh then flipped through the papers on the clipboard rather quickly, before scribbling his signature at the bottom and thrusting it back to his assistant. "Very well Greg, have Frank go ahead and start the gross exam and get the second year intern to assist. I'll be there shortly."

After eyeing Diana up and down, the assistant scurried off, and once again Dr. Marks' pace picked up not bothering to see if Diana was even following. After grabbing a cup of coffee from the employee pot and a rather stale looking pastry, he strode purposefully into his cubical office at the end of a long hall and then stood behind his desk, glancing up at the wall clock. "You have exactly five minutes of my time Ms. Bennett, use it wisely."

Diana crossed the short space until she stood directly across from the medical examiner. "Dr. Marks I need know when you did your initial exam on Gabriel did you notice a ring on his hand."

"A ring?" The coroner's bushy brows descended. "You're interrupting my day for this?"

"Please, Dr. Marks," Diana insisted. "This is important." And before he had a chance to protest further she presented him with a picture from the crime scene and pointed to a dark band on Gabriel's hand. "Gabriel was wearing a ring, this ring when he was killed. But I was just at the evidence locker and it wasn't with Gabriel's personal effects nor was it listed on the inventory sheet. Did it remain with the body?"

Dr. Marks shook his head. "No, it wouldn't have," he said sternly. "Any personal effects are always removed before the internal exam, standard procedure."

"But do you remember the ring though?" Again she tapped the picture.

Dr. Marks scrutinized the young woman for several long seconds, before sighing, then reaching into the left pocket of his shirt he withdrew a pair of glasses and adjusted them on his face before studying the photo more carefully. Several more seconds passed. "Perhaps…maybe something vaguely about it."

"Are you sure?" Diana insisted. "This is important."

The coroner rubbed his chin. "Yes. It was an unusual one, antique gold with a dark jewel I think."

"Do you know what happened to it then?" Diana asked.

Dr. Marks shoved the photo back at her, his bushy eyebrows immediately turning into a straight line, and his tone becoming quite brusk. "I have no idea. But, if you are implying any impropriety in my staff, Ms. Bennett, I _assure _you we go strictly by the book here!"

"I wasn't suggesting any such thing, Dr. Marks, but the fact remains the ring is missing," Diana stated.

The coroner's expression became rigid. "I assure you, I will investigate the matter thoroughly myself, Ms. Bennett!"

Diana nodded. "In the meantime, Dr. Marks, do you have any close-up pictures of the ring?"

"I imagine so, probably from the original gross examination. What's this all about, Ms Bennett?"

"I'm not sure, yet. But I think it's important."

Dr. Marks sighed again then went over to a locked cabinet and after a few seconds of digging around extracted a file several inches thick and plopped it down on his desk. He and Diana then spent the next several minutes flipping through reports and photos.

"Yes, here it is." He finally said and handed the picture to Diana.

It was a decent close-up of the ring. "Is there any way I can get a copy of this?"

"Of course, just see the receptionist out front." Dr. Marks informed her. "Now if this is all, I really do need to get back to my work."

"One more thing, Dr. Marks."

The coroner glanced at his watch, his patience clearly wearing thin.

"Did anyone claim the body?"

Dr. Marks again reluctantly flipped through several papers. "The only information I have was the body was picked up three days ago by a private mortuary, Simon & Sons."

"Thank you," Diana said and left.

Dr. Marks watched her go before abruptly replacing the file back in the metal drawer, a troubled look on his face. As an added precaution, he locked the entire file cabinet before striding out of the room towards his next case in his usual, fast paced determined manner.


	5. Chapter 4

(Revised chapter - meant to correct errors and tighten chapter up a bit based of your feedback, thanks)

**Chapter 4**

After speaking with Father, Vincent returned to his chamber but despite his tiredness, found his mind restless once again. This had been so for the last week ever since he'd been plagued with strange dreams starting the night following the Naming Ceremony for Jacob.

After the ceremony Vincent had lain awake in his bed a long time watching Jacob soundly sleep in the bassinet next to him. Since he'd brought the child home, Vincent wanted the baby close; almost as if afraid he'd loose him again. As the child slept, the bound between them flowed and it wasn't long before Vincent's thoughts turned inward to the child's mother.

From the little leather pouch around his neck, Vincent had removed the small white porcelain rose which Catherine had given him and had held it in the palm of his hand and felt its comfort, remembering the night Catherine had given it to him, a night which should have reminded her of darkness and pain, but instead she had celebrated with dozens of flickering candle lights.

As his melancholy settled in, his memories had drifted further back to when he'd first found her bleeding and broken and dumped in Central Park and the ten miraculous days that had followed as he and Father had cared for her. It had been during that time the remarkable empathic bond that had forever changed him had been forged between them.

Even when she eventually returned Above, the bond established remained and over the long months of her recovery Vincent had experienced all the remarkable changes within Catherine as she had bravely dealt with her fears and overcame them, making him fall in love with her more each day.

What came to pass in the time that followed was something that went beyond friendship or love. It was a sweet dream mixed with heartache as the two stole moments in time between her world and his knowing they could never be together but never wanted to be apart. And, despite all the barriers, despite all the impossibilities and all the sacrifices Catherine had made to be with him, she had done so willingly for the simple reason…she loved him.

And it was that precious love that made Catherine stand by him, even during the dark days of his illness and his deepest despair when he had battled his own beastly demons brought on by Paracelsus' twisted lies and his own guilt and shame over who he was. She had not abandoned him and with that same courage she had once used to face her own fears, she had brought him through those terrible nights with a gentleness in her voice, her touch, her words that quelled his fears and calmed his rage.

Even after his illness, when the precious empathic link he'd so cherished was lost, along with a great deal of his memory, and he had been so afraid of loosing her, she had not forsaken him. Catherine had stayed by his side, patiently letting her love reach out to slowly heal him.

It seemed Vincent was just beginning to accept the changes within him and was willing to start his life again when Catherine was taken away from him, this time forever.

And so that night, with Vincent's heart heavily lost in her memories and the remarkable bond which had flowed between them, he had fallen asleep with the porcelain rose still clutched in his hand and dreamt a very strange dream…

In his dream Vincent had stood in darkness, a darkness so unlike any he'd ever known, for its shadowy depths seemed to want his mind to surrender to its infinity and Vincent had to fight the urge to let it sweep him away. In this darkness he had no sense of time or space, and yet he felt as if he were on a great journey as he wandered through the realms, feeling a yearning to stay, to search but for what he did not know.

And then he felt something and knew he was not alone. It was a presence, but so faint as to almost be indistinguishable in the dark world of strange eerie shadows. He continued to wander, searching until he woke up the next morning feeling utterly exhausted.

The next night he dreamed the exact same dream, but this time the presence seemed a little stronger pulling him towards it. And then out of the darkness a swirling almost transparent mist appeared. Vincent moved towards it and as he looked through it he saw Catherine.

She was lying in the mist on her back and wearing a white flowing dress. Her feet were bare and her soft hair fell loosely about her head. Soft light fell upon her face from an unknown source as she gazed upward at something which seemed to delight her and the vision of her took his breath away.

"Catherine," he whispered her name as his hand reached towards her, but as it passed through the veil of mist her image wavered. He called to her again, "I'm here!"

Catherine propped herself up on her elbows and turned her head to gaze directly at him. At first there was puzzlement in her beautiful eyes but then she smiled. Vincent drew closer but as he tried to penetrate the mist again it began to dissipate and Catherine's eyes suddenly grew very sad as her image faded away.

"No! No! Don't go!" Vincent called out and desperately ran through the mist reaching out to her. But on the other side there was only darkness and then he was suddenly falling into an endless abyss, down, down, down. And as he fell he clutched his aching chest and wept at his loss.

The next morning he woke with a jolt and found himself laying on the cold floor of his chamber curled up on his side, again exhausted as if having traveled a great distance and back. His chest felt tight and achy.

Three nights later, Vincent dreamed again. This time his dream started out as a beautiful memory of a time shared together, then it had swept him away into what his heart long for the most but never dared voice before shifting into something he could not fathom but left his heart very troubled.

In his dream they had stood alone in the deserted Great Hall as the winds echoed from the outside chambers just beyond. He had taken Catherine's hand in his own and had swept her into a waltz, dancing as if in slow motion, savoring each step while their silhouettes flickered against the stone walls from the soft nearby candlelight. And, as they danced, the music of their own creation drifted through the room weaving an enchanted spell around them.

As Vincent gazed deeply upon Catherine's heavenly face, suddenly the white dress she wore was of antique lace and tiny beaded pearls, and about her head a veil rested. And the empty chamber was filled with white roses, the floor littered in soft petals and lit by thousands of flickering candles. Upon her finger a golden band with sparkling diamonds shone. Catherine looked up into his face; into the sapphire blue eyes which shone his full desire for her and her eyes radiated back her own passion.

"Are you happy Catherine? Truly happy?"

"Yes, it's our dream isn't it? To be together always, never to be apart?"

Vincent's heart swelled feeling complete, whole, his other half beside him, but when he spun her around, suddenly she was gone and he was dancing alone in the dark deserted Great Hall where the music had ceased to play.

And from the darkness he heard her sobs calling to him. "Vincent, where are you???"

He whirled about. "Catherine!"

He was now standing in a small room though it was very difficult to see as if a black shadowy veil was obscuring his vision. The room was sparsely furnished with a bed and perhaps a nightstand. The colors were a dull muted shadowy grey, the room devoid of any warmth. He thought he heard a key, the click of a lock, then the door opened and a short woman dressed in white entered with a tray. She looked familiar but the shadows hid her features. Behind her a faceless figure stood just outside the door. The woman said not a word and kept her eyes averted as set the tray upon the bed, then turned and left. The door closed and he heard it being locked.

The room began to dim even more as he looked up to see a little tiny red light blinking steadily and then he heard Catherine's terrible weeping of despair, felt her aloneness, her sense of lost hope.

The darkness descended completely.

"It will all be over quickly," a voice echoed and then a large needle appeared before his eyes.

He heard Catherine scream. "NO!!!!!"

And then her presence was suddenly pulled painfully from his mind, lost beneath a veil he could not penetrate.

"Catherine!" he roared.

When he woke again it was to find Father standing over him in the deserted Great Hall, his face pale, shaken for Vincent had no idea how he'd gotten there or how long he had lain, exhausted, his chest aching.

With a great deal of effort he was helped back to bed and most of the next day Vincent slept almost comatosely, only vaguely aware of Father's and Mary's presences about, arousing only once to the sound of Jacob's cries which he pleaded he be allowed to comfort. As he held the baby close, the ebb and flow of their bond eased his troubled mind and brought him peace.

The next day Father tried to question him. But Vincent, feeling the strange dreams had been wrought by his continued grief over loosing Catherine, and after seeing Father's worried face and not wishing to distress him further, decided to keep them to himself.

For the remainder of the week though the restlessness continued, often keeping him up late at night and making it difficult to remain idle for long during the day. He found some solace in his love of reading but mostly in spending time with Jacob, learning how to be a father. During the day he held his son for hours on end, marveling at every expression on his face and the perfection of his body. On the outside he looked very human and looked so much like Catherine, but on the inside he could feel Jacob's uniqueness so very much like his own.

In the evenings, Mary would usually take Jacob back to her own chamber so Vincent, at Father's insistence, could rest. But after only a few hours of sleep Vincent was up again, and often found himself wandering the Tunnels late into the night as was his nature acting as protector and guardian for those he loved in his world Below. He would walk for miles, many times beyond the parameters of their community feeling the need to keep vigil.

Sometimes he would go Above into the park and enjoy the solace of the night air and the city lights just beyond the dark silhouettes of the trees. Upon Father's request though, he avoided the back alleys of the city itself which of late held no draw, for Vincent had grown weary of all the violence and hatred within. On a few occasions his wanderings would take him to the basement tunnel beneath Catherine's apartment building, but there was nothing left there but memories.

Twice more when he slept that week he found himself wandering in the strange dark realm of shadows and mist searching but this time he did not encounter Catherine's image again, almost as if something had placed a cloak over her to hide her essence from him. And each morning following the dreams, he awoke exhausted from his quest.


	6. Chapter 5

(Revised chapter - meant to correct errors and tighten chapter up a bit based of your feedback, thanks)

**Chapter 5**

Diana sat at her workstation in her loft apartment on the fifth floor of an old converted furniture warehouse. At present the long bulletin board affixed to the wall next to her desk contained a collection of items: pictures of Gabriel, Jonathan Pope, Elliot Burch, Catherine, and several deceased men from the estate including a man thought to be a doctor of some sort found shot in the basement who had yet to be identified. And, sitting on the drafting table was the close-up picture of Gabriel's hand wearing the ring she gotten from the coroner office. Sipping her coffee, Diana used a magnifying glass to study the coroner's picture carefully. She then picked up the ring. At first glance the two looked like the same ring, identical, but Diana knew they weren't. The ring in her hand belonged to an assassin. How she knew this, she had kept to herself.

Meticulously she compared both the ring and the picture to each other. Both appeared very old, made of gold with the same dark black-green stones, emeralds she guessed, and on each side of the jewels were small intricate ornate designs, which also looked very similar, but upon closer inspection, not quite. It was these which drew Diana's interest, though she was clueless as to what they meant. Grabbing some paper, Diana carefully made some enlarged sketches of each design on both sets of rings. The act of actually drawing them out cathartically helped her to think.

So engrossed in her task, she startled when the buzzer to the building's main entry door went off. Diana looked up at the large wall clock across the room. It was already after ten and she wondered who it could be.

She doubting it was Mark, they had broken off their relationship several weeks ago for her job, or rather her obsession, as a criminal profiler usually put a wedge in any decent normal relationship eventually.

Tempted to ignore the buzzer Diana became annoyed as it blared several more times and finally, reluctantly, got up from the wooden stool, crossed the room and depressed the speaker to the intercom.

"Diana, its Joe Maxwell."

She groaned. He was really the last person she wanted to see right now. "Maxwell, it's late."

"Is it? I hadn't realized," Maxwell replied in a very pleasant voice, a voice which didn't fool Diana for a second.

"I'm pretty tired, Joe. Whatever you need to talk to me about, I'm sure it can wait until tomorrow."

"Well if I actually thought I'd see you tomorrow, I would," the District Attorney said, "but seeing how you don't feel the need to grace me with your presence, I decided that the mountain needed to come to Mohammed."

"I told your office already, I'm still working on the case and that I'd give you a report when I'm done."

"As your boss, I insist."

"You're not my boss. You only temporarily borrowed me from the # 210."

"Look, Bennett, its windy and freezing out here. Do I really have to stand out on this stoop having this conversation with you?"

Diana glared at the intercom, then sighed. "All right, come on up." She depressed another button which unlocked the building's front door access.

A few minutes later she heard the lumbering grind of aging gears engaging, a rumble and then a large wooden freight elevator eventually appeared behind a metal accordion safety gate on the far side of the loft.

Diana met Maxwell at the gate as the elevator came to a halt and the wide service doors opened. She noticed he was wearing a light brown trench coat and a suit underneath, though he'd loosened his tie which hung at a knotted haphazard angle around his neck. He was in the middle of racking his fingers through his thick black hair trying the get it back into some semblance of order. "Thanks. It was getting pretty windy out there."

When she made no attempt to open the gate, Maxwell cocked his head slightly to the side and waited patiently, clearly not intent on leaving.

Reluctantly Diana finally swung the gate aside and took a step back allowing Joe to enter.

Immediately he noticed Diana was in flannel pajamas with a thigh length knit sweater and wore a pair of thick socks on her feet that made her look like she was a fourteen year old girl on her way to a slumber party.

"You look really comfortable," Maxwell grinned.

Diana ignored the comment. "What do you need to talk to me about?" she said bluntly wrapping the sweater more firmly about her as she crossed the room and retrieved her mug.

"I don't suppose you've got any of that left," Maxwell said pointing to her cup.

Diana looked at her coffee. "There's probably some left in the bottom of pot but I'm sure it's probably cold by now."

"Thanks, that will be fine."

One thin eyebrow arched upward as Joe just stood casually in the middle of the room, smiling pleasantly at her. With her mouth turned downward, she walked over to the kitchen area, which was an open concept design with a long counter dividing it from the rest of the loft. Joe followed.

"Thought you'd like to know Internal has "officially" cleared you in Gabriel's shooting death."

It was standard procedure with any police officer related fatality that Internal Investigations was called in to assess the situation. And since it had been Diana Bennett that had pulled the trigger on Catherine Chandler's gun which had ended the crime lord's life with one clean shot straight through the heart, she'd been required to go through the necessary procedures, which she had done several days ago.

After finding a mug, she poured him some lukewarm coffee and handed it to him. "You didn't have to come out here all the way to tell me that. You could have just left a message."

"I did. As I recall, I left several in the past three days and haven't got a response. Where have you been?"

She shrugged. "I took a few days off to clear my head." She took a sip her coffee, then joked, "Why, were you worried about me or something?"

Maxwell's brows furrowed into a deep scowl, obviously not amused. "Let's just say I start to get a little antsy lately whenever my investigators just up and disappear off the face of the earth!"

"I didn't disappear," Diana said matter-of-factly. "I went to visit my sister for a few days. It was her birthday."

The scowl on Joe's face intensified. "Well, next time let someone know at least! Do you realize I nearly sent an APB out on you _again_ until I heard from Farrell you were over at Gabriel's estate today?"

Diana looked at Maxwell with a little bit of surprise. He actually sounded genuinely upset about the whole matter.

"Sorry," she replied. "I guess I'm just so used to working alone." Maxwell's jaw tensed up, making Diana's eyebrow arch slightly upward. "Joe, I _am_ a big girl you know."

"Don't get cute! You know very well what I mean!" Joe said loosing his temper, but damn it! He was annoyed.

And at this point, Diana had the good grace to look a little shamefaced for she knew this was a particular sore spot with Joe. The last time she had vanished was because Gabriel's henchmen had abductor her for their little chat. The last time Catherine Chandler had disappeared however, she'd been murdered.

"I'm sorry, Joe." Her apology was more genuine this time.

"Okay, okay. Forget it." Maxwell sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He then looked up at her and the expression on his face changed, become softer. "Look – I also wanted to stop by to see how you were doing, you know, after the shooting, Bennett. Not that you had much of a choice, but it's never easy."

Diana turned her back to Joe staring down into the black murky liquid in her own mug. Her response was slow, measured. "I'm okay with it, Joe. I did what I had to do." It was all she could say.

But Joe heard the underlying stress in her voice nonetheless and asked. "Was that your first time, I mean to have to use deadly force that is?"

Diana shook her head. "No. Once before, when I worked vice years ago. Fifteen year old gang member tried to shoot my partner down. Just comes with the territory," she shrugged.

"I suppose," was Joe's quiet reply.

Then, as if wanting to change the subject completely, she grabbed a metal cooking pot from the drying rack and filled it half way up with water and walked across to the other side of the loft. Kneeling down, she watered a potted rose bush which stood next to a large window.

Joe noticed how well it was thriving under her care. The rose bush was a specially grafted hybrid containing both white and red roses and had once belonged to Cathy. Diana had found it withered and practically dead on Cathy's balcony during her early investigation into her death and had brought it back to her loft and nursed it back to life.

"Looks like you've got the green thumb."

Diana picked off a few dead leaves. "All it took was someone to protect and nurture it for a while."

"Nice to see something of Radcliff's surviving," Joe commented.

"Radcliff?"

Joe squatted down and fingered a blooming white rose then smiled a little lopsidedly. "Yeah. Bit of a nickname I had for her. Used to like to tease her about her rich socialite education." When Joe looked up, Diana could still see the sadness still in his eyes.

"You still miss her a lot, don't you?"

"She was a good friend. Even helped me through a couple of pretty rough spots of my own," Joe nodded, silently remembering the time she'd stuck her neck out for him when he'd been set up on a drug possession charge by a group of dirty lawyers trying to get their client off the hook.

"Seems like she did that for a lot of people," Diana commented.

"Yeah, she did. It was what made her such a good lawyer and investigator. She just had a way of making people willing to put their trust in her, especially witnesses. But it also made her a damn good friend too."

"Well at least now that you've found her killer, maybe that will help you find some closure, Joe."

The District Attorney stood back up. "Yeah, maybe."

Diana rose also, looking at Joe oddly. "What's wrong?"

He sighed and then shoved his hands into his pant pockets, a habit Diana had noticed he did whenever he was agitated about something. "You know, I was so focused on finding Cathy's killer," he said shaking his head sadly. "So sure that it had to be connected some way to that black book Hanlin gave me that I just couldn't let myself think of anything else."

It was only later had Joe found out Patrick Hanlin had worked for Malloy Davidson & HNT, the huge trust firm with ties into most big business and several government operations, and ties he was sure of now, into Gabriel's criminal network if he could just prove it.

"But you were right about the book," Diana insisted. "There was obviously something in it that brought up the red flags with Gabriel to have kidnapped Catherine, though I suppose we'll never know now what it could have been."

The black book had disappeared with Catherine.

"When I gave Cathy that book, I signed her death warrant!" Joe said in a voice filled with guilt.

This was something Diana knew continued to plague the District Attorney. "Joe, there was no way you could have known at the time," she said with compassion.

"Maybe, I don't know." Joe sighed. "But it doesn't change things, nor make it any easier to live with the fact I lost a good friend over it."

"At some point you gotta let it go," Diana said simply.

"Wish it were that easy," he said slowly, deliberately. "But there's still a lot of holes in this case, especially involving Cathy I need to find out."

Diana's brows came down into a frown. "Like what?"

"Well for starters, what happened to Catherine's baby?"

Diana looked up startled. "What?"

Maxwell rushed to explain. "Look, you said yourself once you thought Cathy's pregnancy was somehow connected with the case. That maybe the father of this child was important."

It was true. It was a theory Diana had pressed upon Joe very early in her investigation, before other things had been revealed to Diana. She rubbed her forehead with her fingers. "Joe it was just a theory. Like a lot I had at the time and which I later dismissed," she said.

"What are you saying?" Joe demanded.

"Exactly that, Joe," she waved her hand exasperatedly in the air. "Look. I'm sorry. It's the way I think, okay. I throw out a bunch of things, ideas, thoughts whatever, mull them over for a while and then weed them out."

But Joe shook his head. "Well I just happen to think you were right after all."

Diana glanced suspiciously at him. "How do you mean?"

"I think Cathy and her child were important to Gabriel, and you want to know why?"

Diana wet her lips, watching him silently through green eyes as she crossed her arms about her waist.

"Because I think you were right about the father?"

Diana continued to stare at him.

"It was Elliot Burch wasn't it? And somehow Gabriel found that out and was using it against him."

Joe then quickly told Diana about the files Gabriel had on Burch, and his theory about Elliot being professionally squeezed and his own ideas about him hiring someone to squeeze back. If Gabriel had somehow figured out that Burch was the father of Catherine's child, it may have been the pawn necessary to break him in the end.

Diana stood stoically.

"Just think about. Burch was a hell of a powerful guy with enough money to hire an army of security men and muscle not to mention enough charm to get away with about anything. And he was also a guy that didn't like to be bought or pushed. But I think he was really in love with Cathy, at least as much as someone like Elliot could ever be. And maybe you were right, maybe they did have a secret relationship Cathy kept silent about, and maybe Gabriel found out about it when he kidnapped Catherine."

"Maybe Joe," Diana said slowly.

"Just hear me out," Joe insisted. "Look, you said before earlier in your investigation into Cathy's death you thought she had some kind of protector, someone who knew whenever she was in danger. Well I think you're right. I'm thinking Burch hired someone to tail her and try and protect her, whether she wanted it or not. But after she died, Elliot still may have used him again for revenge or to help him get Cathy's baby back."

Joe went on to explain his theory further expanding on what he'd told Detective Hughs early. About a year after Cathy and Elliot stopped dating, the CIA had become very interested in Elliot Burch and had unofficially shared a few crumbs with the D.A.'s office. It seemed Burch had been involved in some shading business surrounding his luxury resort in Santa Erosato, a small Island nation in the Caribbean and the CIA had suspected Elliot was somehow involved with an attempted coupe to overthrow the local government.

When Burch suddenly appeared back in New York, he'd somehow gotten Catherine involved his mess either by accident or intent because the CIA suspected Cathy may have helped him smuggle one of their witness out of the hospital. Burch, when finally questioned on the matter, adamantly denied Cathy had anything to do with it, insisting he hadn't even seen or spoken with her in well over a year. But one look at Cathy and Joe had suspected otherwise but wisely had kept his mouth shut.

Afterwards, the CIA had neatly made whatever the problem Burch had been involved with go away because neither he nor Cathy had ever been charged with anything and the matter had been completely dropped. Afterwards, Catherine remained silent about the whole situation. But Joe's theory now was that maybe Burch had inadvertently or deliberately stumbled onto Gabriel's operations then and his troubles had followed him back to New York.

"Joe, that's a lot of maybes," Diana said doubtfully.

"I know, I know, but I've been racking my brains for hours about this, and I know it sounds farfetched but it would explain some stuff, particularly Burch's cloak and dagger acts and Cathy's insistence about keeping Burch in her private life."

"Maybe, Joe, but there's also another possibility here you haven't considered. Maybe the child never existed," she said very slowly.

Joe's brows descended rapidly down. "What do you mean? Of course the baby exists! Dr. Marks' report said Cathy had given birth shortly before she'd been killed with an overdose of morphine."

"That's true, but there's no way to tell weather the fetus delivered was alive or dead at the time."

"What are you saying? That there was never a baby now?"

"I'm not saying anything. I'm just stating the facts. Catherine disappeared and _six_ months later she's dead. You don't even know how far along she was at the time of her disappearance. For all we know, the baby may have been premature and died."

The thought hadn't even seemed to occur to Joe, but despite that, he shook his head. "Well then what about the _fact_ there was a nursery on Gabriel's estate and there was evidence a baby _did_ exist there. If it wasn't Cathy's, whose baby was it?"

"I can't give you those answers, Joe. We don't know enough about Gabriel to assume such a leap. All I can tell you is when I shot Gabriel in that nursery, there was no baby there. We were alone," Diana replied honestly.

"Then maybe someone else was there before the raid? Someone, Burch had hired." Joe insisted, still set on his theory. "You were the only one on the estate before the raid. Did you see anyone else?"

"Joe, I saw lots of people. All with fully automatic rifles and machine guns running around like crazy shouting at each other because the power had gone out and I was a little bit busy trying to keep my head down to prevent it from getting blown off."

"Okay, okay. I just thought." Joe rubbed his forehead tiredly. "I just keep going around in circles about this"

"I'm sorry, Joe." Her voice was sincere. "If there was a baby there it could have been anyone's, not necessarily Cathy's."

"I suppose." Joe looked very depressed. Then he said in a voice full of regret and guilt. "It's just that if Catherine has a child out there somewhere, whether it belongs to Burch or not, I just want to know its safe, that's all. It's the least I could do for her. She didn't deserve to die and I feel responsible for that but there's not a damn thing I can do about it though."

Diana bit her lip hard as if in an effort not to speak. Finally she said, "Joe, you did all you could for her, you found her killer. Be proud of that."

"Yeah, I guess." He rubbed the back of his neck. "So, how's the profile on Gabriel going?" he finally asked.

Diana seemed glad on the change in subject. "Slow. But I'm starting to get an impression of the man."

"Like what?"

"Well, for starters he considered himself beyond the reaches of us mere mortals."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, until we found out about him, he was an almost non-existent entity and those that did know of him, certainly weren't talking."

"Except for Burch."

"Yeah, and look where that got him. But even within his own ranks, I don't think many knew him fully. It wasn't his style. He ruled with power and with fear but mostly with an element of mystery."

"How do you know that?"

"By his very name," Diana said.

"Okay you lost me."

"Look, he was only ever known, by the few who knew he existed, as Gabriel. Not Mr. Gabriel, or Gabriel-of-the-whatever-Italian-so-and-so family, just Gabriel."

"Well I have a cleaning lady that I only ever know as Margarita, what difference does it make?"

"Because Margarita can't make someone like Elliot Burch squirm and buy off a District Attorney," she replied. "Look, the singular form of the name suggests a uniqueness and a power beyond the limitations of the average man. Added to the fact we've not be able to find squat through his fingerprints or any other type of search thus far suggests someone who has carefully crafted himself to be what he desired, someone that possessed unquestioning authority, almost omnipotent power."

"So you're saying Gabriel thought he was what, like a god or something?"

"Essentially and not so far off base from what we've been able to gather."

"Anything else?"

"I'm still mulling over some more theories but I need to check some things out before I want to say anything more." Then she asked Joe. "Have you been able to find anymore connections with Gabriel to Malloy and Davidson?"

"Not anything solid beyond an association with some holding company's controlled by Malloy and Davidson. We're still working on that. But I've also got investigators digging deeply into Patrick Hanlin's past. There's a connection there too and I'm going to find it. I just wish I knew what happened to that book!"

Diana nodded then looked at the clock on the wall and yawned. "Sorry."

"Okay, okay, I get the hint." He headed over to the elevator and stepped in. "But keep me posted on your progress, regularly," Maxwell emphasized.

"I'll do my best," Diana smiled at him sliding the accordion safety gate shut.

Joe paused and looked into Diana's eyes as if he wanted to say something else, then changed his mind. With a decisive nod he told her, "Lock up."

"Sure, boss, whatever you say." Diana smiled then looked at him with concern. "Joe."

His finger hovered on the elevator button.

"Be careful poking your nose around. You may be the District Attorney, but these guys don't play nice."

Joe nodded. "Same goes for you, too." He pointed to the security gate again. "Lock it," he repeated.

As Diana watched the elevator descend, she stood staring at it for several minutes, then locked the gate and abruptly went back to her workstation. Picking up the ring from her desk, she tried to refocus her attention on it. As she stared at the dark stone in the center of the ring for some reason Joe Maxwell's dark brown eyes came into her mind. With irritation she pushed the image aside and picked up her pencil, focusing her attention on her task until she had once again become engrossed in it as she thought about the case.


	7. Chapter 6

(Revised chapter - meant to correct errors and tighten chapter up a bit based of your feedback, thanks)

**Chapter 6**

Later that night, Vincent again woke unable to go back to sleep and like the nights before got up and patrolled the Tunnels. Eventually though he went Above, but tonight his restlessness took him not into Central Park but to Catherine's grave.

Setting a single red rose on the frosted ground, Vincent knelt on both knees his cloak billowing about him in the cold damp air as he stared at the marker which bore Catherine's name. It still grieved him greatly that he'd been unable to even attend the funeral. To keep his identity a secret, he'd been forced to stay behind while Father, Pascal, Jamie, Mouse and many of the others from his world Below and her world Above attended the service. Vincent had come later, like a thief in the night, and had stared down at the fresh mound of earth and the flowers on top and the granite headstone and his heart wept in bitter sorrow.

For a long time he just knelt thinking about her and about the strange dreams brought on by his grief and he wondered if he would ever be able to make peace with himself in her death. He had known a great deal of love in his life, but he knew what he'd had with Catherine was unique, magical, and he believed in the deepest recesses of his heart that he had been meant to find her that night, that they had been meant to be together, to be connected, even if Fate had been cruel and unmerciful in the end.

But this night, as he stared at the letters etched in stone they seemed different, empty and cold as if containing no substance, no depth, no meaning and it perplexed him greatly.

He remained as long as he dared, but as the hour grew late, Vincent knew he needed to return to the Tunnels. He sighed deeply staring at the marker. "Know that I love you Catherine. That I will always love you."

With his thoughts still on her, Vincent returned Below and headed back to his own chamber when a powerful surge of distorted images like fast pounding heartbeats suddenly assaulted his mind making him stagger back as if he'd been physically struck: Catherine's laughing face in the rain, his smile at her joy; her as she turned to see him upon her balcony; Catherine's father Charles in the hospital; the slam of a van door – the flick of a knife; Catherine running towards him, to him through the park; her fingers touching his face with longing; Elliot Burch weeping; Laura signing "thank you"; Catherine cradling him in her apartment; Father, Mouse, Rolley, a woman beaten and crying, images of he and Catherine sharing so many special moments on the balcony, in the tunnels, dancing in the Great Hall, Gabriel's evil smile and cold eyes, Jamie, Eric, Tony Ramos, Ellie dying in Catherine's arms all mixed with sounds: laughter, crying, subway trains, the scrapping and closer of a metal door – "Hey, Carol - going alone home tonight?", voices desperate, pleading all calling her name, chamber music resonating loudly all swirling about him, then colliding together, making him dizzy, disoriented until he had to put his hands over his ears and close his eyes against their assault. Then he heard a terrified scream and the images were ripped violently from his mind. Vincent staggered backwards against the pain, holding his chest, as he fell against the wall of the tunnel, sliding down into blackness.

Vincent was again in that mysterious realm of darkness. He lay weakly, hardly able to draw a breath from the oppressive weight pressing upon his chest. And before him, in a pool of filtered light, he saw her weeping uncontrollably, her knees drawn up, her eyes tightly shut.

He called desperately out to her, but she did not respond, so caught up in her own tortuous agony. He tried reaching out to her, but could not move.

Then a softly lit figure appeared and knelt before her and gathered her up in a fold of arms, held her close and rocked her gently back and forth as the light faded and the darkness descended upon him once again.

His next awareness was of being shaken, rather rudely, and he became aware of his name being called repeatedly. When he did mange to open his eyes, it was to find Jamie's anxious face looming over him.

"Vincent? Vincent? Are you all right?"

And then her image was pushed aside and Mouse appeared.

Lying on his back, he could only stare up at them confused. "What happened?" he finally asked.

"Don't know. Found you here…out cold," Mouse replied.

"Are you hurt Vincent? Should I get Father?" Jaime asked her eyes darting over his face.

Vincent rolled slowly onto his side and eased himself up on one elbow. He shook his head. "No. I'm fine."

"Don't look fine to me," Mouse replied noticing the strain on Vincent's face.

A few moments later Vincent struggled into a standing position which was no easy feat considering his sizeable mass and much to his dismay he found he needed to lean on Mouse for support, his head still spinning.

Mouse grunted under the immense weight of Vincent's solid frame which nearly caused the younger boy's knees to buckle. "Not feel fine either," he grunted through gritting teeth.

"I'm going to get Father!" Jamie spun about and started to run off, but Vincent caught her by the wrist.

"No!"

Jamie stared up at Vincent alarmed.

He took a deep breath trying to clear his head. "I'll be all right Jamie. I just need a moment."

"But he should know," Jamie argued.

Vincent shook his head. "It's late. I don't wish to wake Father up and have him worry." He released Jamie's wrist and then placed his hand gently upon her shoulder. "I just need to go back to my chamber and rest," he reassured her.

Jamie bit her lip. "Are you sure?"

Vincent nodded. Slowly he straightened up until he was baring his full weight. He took several more deep breaths and the dizziness cleared. But as he started to walk down the tunnel which led back to his chamber, he swayed and had to grab the side of the tunnel with an outstretched arm to balance himself.

Mouse immediately was at his side again, sliding Vincent's arm about his shoulder. "Not fine at all," he replied and together he and Jamie assisted Vincent back to his chamber and into bed.

Father finished his exam of Vincent who lay propped up on pillows in bed. The old man's face was grim, his hair askew for Jamie, despite Vincent's assurances that he was okay, had woken Father up anyway.

Mouse and Jamie hovered in the background glancing at each other as Mary entered wrapping her robe tightly around her waist against the chill of the hour, her grey hair hanging loosely down and disheveled, her eyes silently inquiring.

"Any more chest pain or dizziness?" Father asked in a tone that expected an honest answer.

Vincent shook his head. "No. I'm sorry to have woken you, Father," he apologized.

"I would have been more furious with you and them if Jamie hadn't!" Father reprimanded. "What were you doing in the Tunnels so late anyway, as if I need to ask?"

Vincent sighed. "I couldn't sleep. So I decided to go Above for a walk."

The disapproval on Father's face was evident. "But those tunnels where Jamie and Mouse found you aren't anywhere near the Central Park exits."

"I didn't go into the park, Father." Vincent replied his eyes downcast. "I went to visit Catherine's grave."

"I see," was Father's slow reply as he wound his stethoscope up and returned it to the worn medical bag. Mary stepped closer and caught Father's concerned worried eye, but he again turned his attention back to his son.

"Vincent, I want you to tell me exactly what happened. You said you were experiencing some kind of vision when you passed out?"

"It felt more like an assault rather than a vision, Father. It felt like I had been caught in a flood gate of images and emotions pouring out and into me all at once until I could no longer breathe. Then as violently as they had appeared they vanished. I don't even remember half of them, there were so many."

Father's expression was full of concern as he gazed at his son. Finally he said, "Vincent, you cannot keep doing this, staying up all night, barely sleeping during the day. You must rest." He paused to rub his brow. "Perhaps we should re-consider the use of a mild sedative."

"No!" was Vincent's adamant reply for he hated to take any kind of medication, especially ones that would alter his mind and with just reason. Because of Vincent's unique biochemistry, it was always a risk how drugs reacted with his body. Even when injured, Vincent refused any types of pain medication and Father even had to be judicious in the use of antibiotics due to untoward reactions.

But there was also fear. Ever since Paracelsus had once exposed him to a mind altering drug that had left Vincent in such a hallucinogenic rage and he had injured Father, he'd refused anything that remotely would affect his mind, even something mild. On that particular day, as during the time of his mental illness, Catherine's voice had been the only one able to reach him.

"All right, Vincent," Father said, not pushing the subject. "Than we shall try some herbal remedies. I will talk to Dr. Wong and see what he can recommend." Dr. Wong was a Helper, an herbalist who lived in China Town who had a vast knowledge of ancient remedies whom they used often.

Vincent nodded in agreement then closed his eyes tiredly.

Father put his hand on his son's chest. "Rest now." He rose with some effort, leaning heavily on his cane as Mary reached out and took his medical bag from him.

"Is he going to be all right, Father?" Jamie finally asked as Mouse hovered close behind her.

Father nodded though his eyes seemed less convincing. "He just needs to stay put and sleep."

"I can stay with him," Mary offered.

"No, let me," Mouse stepped forward. "Please," the adolescent implored. "Vincent's my friend too."

Father saw the need on Mouse's face. "All right, Mouse. But I want you to come get me if Vincent needs anything, understand?" Father said firmly.

The adolescent nodded.

Father, Mary and eventually Jamie left the room and Mouse then went over and sat down in the old worn tapestry chair. He folded one leg up so he could rest his chin against his knee and kept a quiet vigil. And, as he watched Vincent drift off into sleep, his own memories brought him back to a time in another life, a time when his world was only about fear and about being alone before Vincent had reached out and befriended him.

Several years ago when Mouse had been caught stealing food from the Tunnel Dwellers, instead of being beaten and thrown in a metal box with iron bars as he'd expected or worse the massive creature who'd caught him had taken one looked at him and had set him free.

Mouse had instinctively fled, to the dark lower tunnels which he knew were his safe haven. But Vincent had easily followed him, the darkness no hindrance to his progress. But he'd been careful to keep his distance, as if he knew how frightened Mouse was of strangers, people.

For nearly two weeks Vincent had camped close by Mouse's secret retreat never pressuring him, never invading his secret place, but instead quietly offering his friendship in small ways until Mouse timidly ventured out, first keeping a respectful distance from "the monster". Eventually he had inched his way into Vincent's camp enticed by the aroma of food and a warm fire.

Mouse had awarded giant beast's generosity by grabbing the food and running, but Vincent had made no effort to chase him. Instead, of all things, he had opened a book and began to read aloud. Mouse recalled that he didn't understand the words at the time, but from the dark shadows he had listened for hours to the sound of Vincent's deep soothing voice and eventually, slowly, he had crept out of his hiding place and sat a little closer.

Over the next several days, Vincent had wandered deep into the mysterious world that existed Below to magical places Mouse thought only he knew about, to the underground waterfalls lit by strange glowing lights and caverns full of wild mushrooms. Mouse had followed, scurrying behind one rock and the next, curious about the massive creature that spoke softly and seemed to understand about loneliness and about the dark. And after four more days, Mouse did something he thought he'd never do in his entire life, he had reached out and touched another human being and Vincent had smiled back as if he too had needed a friend.

And now years later, Mouse looked upon his very special friend as Vincent slept, his heart heavy, for a world without Vincent, was a lonely one indeed.

"Be well," he said aloud. "We need you. Mouse needs you."


	8. Chapter 7

(Revised chapter - meant to correct errors and tighten chapter up a bit based of your feedback, thanks)

**Chapter 7**

After a busy morning, Father sat at his desk trying to catch up on some much needed correspondences when Kipper and Eric, shyly tagging behind, entered. They had a pipe message from Pascal.

"She wants to see Vincent, but Mary said he was sleeping and not to disturb him," Kipper said.

"Thank you. Please meet her, and show her down. I'll talk to her personally," Father instructed.

As Father watched the two boys leave. He was glad to see Kipper taking the introverted Eric under his wing so to speak. Ever since Eric lost his sister Ellie to the plague that had swept through their world last year, he'd converted to a shy introverted and withdrawn child he worried about.

Kipper was definitely growing up and showing the signs of a natural leader to the younger children which pleased Father greatly. It reminded him of how his own son Devin had once done the same long ago growing up with Vincent, Pascal, Winslow, Olivia and even Mitch when they were children.

Now, so many years later, Father reflected, it still amazed him their fragile world could still exist when so many forces from the outside always seemed destined to tear it apart.

Mary came in a few minutes later to tell him William, the cook, was getting low on fresh citrus fruit, something much needed for the Vitamin C, especially in the colder months when topside outings into the park so the children could play in the sun, became scarcer. Father nodded and told her he'd have Pascal relay a pipe message to Henry Pei who ran a Chinese restaurant with his wife Lin, the grand-daughter of the Chinese herbalist and Helper, Dr. Wong. Henry was often able to get them fresh produce. In turn they provided the Pei Chinese Restaurant with a specially grown variety of cave mushrooms which were considered quite a delicacy and to which Henry incorporated into many of his recipes.

Mary looked over at Father. "You look tired, Jacob. You should take your own advice and rest."

He let out a tired chuckle, not missing the fact she occasionally used his Christian name of late. Mary had always been part of the glue which held their fragile world together, the silent kind which never complained, but did her best to help pick up the pieces which unraveled apart from time to time. But over the last several months, Father in particular he had come to appreciate her emotional support a lot more as his worries about their world, the children and Vincent in particular weighed heavily on his mind.

Mary placed a supportive hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze before quietly departing to continue one of her many tasks throughout the day.

Diana Bennett waited in the tunnel beneath a storm drain a few blocks from her apartment building. Some forty minutes later, she saw movement down the dark tunnel and a lantern appeared carried, to her surprise, by two boys, the older by her guess not more than fourteen. Both were dressed in the traditional layered wear of Tunnel Dwellers.

"Hello," she greeted. "I'm Diana."

The older boy nodded. "Father sent us to meet you and escort you down. I'm Kipper and this here is Eric," he added indicating the shorter boy who seemed to hover in Kipper's shadow.

"Please to meet you both." She followed the two boys.

"You're the Helper that helped find Vincent's son, aren't you?" Kipper asked after a few minutes of walking.

Helper, Diana mused. She had never really thought of herself in that way. Vincent had told her about the Helpers, special people who supported the Tunnel world below in various ways and kept their secrets. Two, a taxi cab driver and a hot dog vendor, she'd already met.

Diana smiled. "Yes, I guess I am," she replied, though she still felt the whole concept was quite unbelievable even if she _was_ a New Yorker. When Joe had asked her to look into the death of his colleague and friend, at the time Diana would have never believed in a million years her profiling investigation would lead to the discovery of Catherine Chandler's greatest secret: Vincent, and the hidden world he protected.

As Diana followed the two boys down the passage, she could still vividly recall the night she'd found Vincent collapsed on Catherine's grave, severely injured after a failed attempt to find his son. A first she had been scared out of her wits by the appearance of this half-man, half-lion creature until Vincent had come to his senses and she'd discovered the beast on the outside was no more than a man consumed by insurmountable grief inside. After hearing Vincent's story, and moved by compassion for his plight, it had still taken Diana a while to convince this strange soft spoken being to trust her and to let her help him. And after Vincent had finally rescued his son and brought him home, Diana felt compelled to honor the love shared by a murdered woman and this strange unique man and to keep their secrets safe.

After about ten minutes of walking though, Diana appeared confused for it seemed like the last time she'd been escorted down this passage they had turned left instead of right and expressed her comment aloud.

The boys giggled. "You probably did," replied Kipper. "But the tunnels are always being changed to keep intruders out."

"Don't you ever get lost then?" Diana asked for the labyrinth of tunnels and secret passages were daunting.

"Why would I?" was Kipper's simple reply. "This is my home."

About a half hour later the boys entered Father's chamber with Diana following behind. Father, still sitting at his desk sorting through several stacks of papers, looked up over his wire rimmed glasses as she entered.

"Hello, Diana," Father greeted her pleasantly enough, but Diana heard the reserve in the British accent as if he still hadn't quite made up his mind about her.

"Sir," Diana nodded. "It's nice to see you again."

He stood up. "Your message said you wished to speak to Vincent," he said without preamble.

"Yes."

He took off his glasses and folded them carefully in his hand as he regarded her. "Is it something urgent he needs to know about?"

"Umm…actually I was hoping he could help me with some information on the case I'm working on."

Father's reply was slow, guarded. "I'm afraid he's not feeling well today."

"Oh?" Diana asked with concern. "Is something wrong with him?"

"It's been a difficult week for him and at the moment he's resting," was all Father would say. He came around in front of his desk and stood stiffly. "I would prefer he not be disturbed unless it's something very important. Is there something I can help you with instead?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, maybe you can," Diana replied finally.

Father nodded then with a sweep of his hand bid her to sit down. "Would you like some hot tea?"

"Yes, thank you."

Father asked Kipper and Eric if they would be so kind as to oblige, and a few minutes later they returned with a teapot full of hot water and two cups.

"Thank you, boys, now I think it best you run along back to your studies."

The two boys nodded and left obediently as Father resumed his seat behind his desk.

Diana watched them go. "How many children live down here?" she asked curiously.

Father poured hot tea into two cups. "The numbers constantly change with the need. But we have about thirty who live here permanently, mostly orphans or those abandoned or so neglected or abused by their families that they are left to fend for themselves on the streets. Others stay for a short time if our Helpers Above need assistance or become ill."

Diana was amazed. "It must be difficult to care for so many."

"We do what we can to help them and for the most part they are happy," Father replied though by the look his eyes, Diana suspected it was never an easy task.

Father handed Diana her tea, then after taking a sip of his own, asked, "Now what is it I can do for you?"

Diana explained that she was trying to help the District Attorney's office unravel the rest of Gabriel's network by trying to form a profile of the crime lord.

At the very mention of Gabriel, Father's posture changed. "I don't see how we can be of much help," he said, sitting a little straighter in his chair, his face becoming rigid. Indeed it appeared to Diana he would prefer just to forget all about him. And Diana could understand this. Gabriel had brought nothing but grief and tragedy to Vincent and members of his world Below. But Diana still had a job to do and she also had other reasons for her concerns.

"Vincent said you were knowledgeable about many things," she pressed. "I need to find out more about the origins or nature of this ring." Diana produced the ring Vincent had given her. It was the one Gabriel had taken from her after she'd been abducted and then later released. Father recognized it with distain. It had been the one Vincent had originally taken from the assassin sent down into the Tunnels weeks ago to hunt his son down. Vincent had given it back to her, Diana explained, after Jacob's Naming Ceremony. How he had come to _re-posses_ it, Vincent never elaborated on, but she could tell he had been glad to be rid of it.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

Diana went on to explain that Gabriel and this assassin both had almost identical rings, but upon closer inspection the ornate designs on each side of the inlayed stones were different. Diana produced the enlarged sketches she had made.

"These two rings were important to these men. I don't know what the connection is yet, but my gut is telling me I need to find out. Problem is, the last time I inquired into the ring it set off a bunch of red flags with Gabriel. I would prefer to try and keep the radar low this time until I can learn more."

Father fingered the ring a long time, eyeing Diana carefully. He sighed, then after what seemed like several long seconds had ticked by, he reluctantly withdrew a magnifying glass out of his desk and held the ring up to the candle light to get a better look, then examined the sketches once again.

"Do you have any idea what the designs mean?"

He shook his head. "The symbols may be Roman in origin, though. They are very old."

"Are you sure?"

"Not entirely. I'm sorry, I'm afraid I'm not much of an expert in this area." He returned the ring.

Diana sighed, her shoulders slumping. "That's okay. It was a long shot anyway."

"Do you really believe this is going to help you?"

Diana nodded, trying her best to make Father understand. "Gabriel's network is vast and still very much hidden to us. The police raid on the estate has produced some evidence, but most is still being analyzed and it's going to take time to unravel. I'm sure these rings have an important connection with his network and if I can figure it out, it may save some time and maybe more lives."

Father looked at the young woman with a great amount of concern. "Or may cost you more."

Diana averted her eyes. "It's a chance I need to take."

Father leaned forward and interlaced his fingers on his desk. "Why Diana?"

It was a hard question to answer. What drove her sometimes, even Diana couldn't put easily into words. But this time she had her reasons, or more aptly instincts that were concerning her but didn't want to share them with either Vincent or his father as yet. They had been through enough. Her green eyes looked straight at his. "It's my job. It's what I do best."

She felt Father's acute eyes on her, eyes that still were distrustful of the world Above and many in it. He rubbed his chin in deep thought as if trying to come to a decision. "I might know someone who may be able to help you," he said at last.

Diana's brows rose.

"He was Helper who used to work at the museum though he's been retired for many years now. His name is Professor Cummings. He specialized in antiquities."

"Do you know where I can find him now?"

Father nodded, the corners of his mouth turned downward. From his desk he slowly took a sheet of parchment out and wrote down an address, plus a note for Diana to give to him.

"Thank you." She folded the paper and stashed it into her shirt pocket.

He then said to her. "If you would be so kind as to bring him a meal when you see him, we would be most appreciative. It is difficult for him to get out much anymore."

"Of course, I'd be happy to."

Diana then paused for the next part of what she wanted to say was little more difficult. "There is another reason I came, sir. Something else I thought you and Vincent should know about."

Father's brows turned downward into a straight line and once again she saw the mistrust return in his eyes. "What is it?"

"Joe Maxwell came to my apartment last night," Diana began. "He was asking me a lot of questions about Catherine's child. Even though Vincent got the baby out before the raid, the police know there was a child there and Maxwell suspects the baby may have been Catherine's."

Father leaned back in his chair. "I see," he said slowly.

"Right now he thinks the father was probably Elliot Burch though and that Gabriel might have been using him as a pawn to force Elliot to back out of his business." Father's expression took on an angry edge. Diana continued. "He's guessing maybe Elliot hired someone to steal the child back, or something along those lines after Catherine was killed." She paused. She then went on to explain her attempts to steer Maxwell away from his ideas.

Father regarded her intently. "Do you think he'll pursue this matter?"

"Honestly, I don't know," Diana replied, but strangely she felt the need to defend Joe. "However, I don't believe his intent to find the baby is malicious towards Vincent. Catherine meant a lot to Joe too. She was a good friend and he's still feeling a lot of guilt over her death." She briefly explained to Father about the evidence Joe had given Catherine which had probably triggered her abduction. To this Father's expression showed some surprise, for this piece of the puzzle had always been a great mystery to them. "He told me that if Catherine's child is somewhere out there he just wants to make sure it's safe."

"And that's all Vincent ever wanted from the beginning," Father said with a deep sadness. "But I don't think a man like Joe Maxwell could ever understand that what my son does, he's only done out of necessity to protect those he loves the most."

"But I know it. And I'll do what I can to keep his secrets," Diana tried to reassure him.

Father inclined his head. "Thank you."

Kipper was summoned and a short while later, Diana was escorted back to her world after she'd been given some items to pass onto Professor Cummings while Father was left to ponder this latest news.

Vincent came into Father's study later that day and Father was pleased to see he looked a little more rested as he sat down in a chair opposite to him. Father spent some time filling him in on Diana's visit and about Joe Maxwell's interest in Catherine's baby. Vincent listened intently and with concern for his son.

A little while later, Pascal came in and as soon as Father saw his face, he knew something was up.

"What's wrong, Pascal?" Father asked.

Pascal looked from Vincent to Father to Vincent again, and then shifted his weight a bit from one side to the other. "I just received a pipe message from one of the Helpers taking care of Sam."

"Is Sam all right?" Father asked with concern, for the Helper Sam was old and very sick.

Pascal's reply was hesitant. "It's not that…"

Vincent's eyes suddenly narrowed into slits and he sat a little straighter in his seat. Pascal didn't know how else to say it, so he just spit it out. "Mitch is back."

Vincent rose slowly from his chair.

"Mitch?" Father sounded incredulous. "Are you sure?"

Pascal nodded, his eyes shifting to Vincent. "Sam thought you ought to know."

"Has he been spotted any where near the Tunnels?" Vincent demanded.

"No," Pascal reassured.

"What about the entrances near Sam's place?" Father asked.

"They were all sealed up after…" He let the rest of the sentence drop as he saw the muscles in Vincent's shoulders tighten and his fist clench.

Father sagged back in his seat, sighing.

"What should we do?" Pascal asked.

Father replied. "For now, post a few more sentries in that area for the time being, though I sincerely doubt Mitch would dare to come Below ever again."

Pascal nodded, turned to leave, but stopped in his tracks. Slowly he turned back to them.

"What else Pascal?" Father asked.

"I think he's been back for a while," was his measured reply.

"Why would you think that?" Vincent questioned his voice dropping to a deeper tone.

Pascal looked up at Vincent and his fist tightened nervously on the short pieces of pipe he held in his hands, which he used like drumsticks to tap the messages out, before replying. "Because, I thought I saw him at Catherine's funeral," he finally confessed.

Father's eyes widened in shock. "Are you certain?"

Pascal stood solemnly, aware of Vincent's now rock hard stance. "At the time, no," he admitted honestly. "I'd only caught a glimpse of him in the background when we were leaving the service. And, it had been years since I'd seen him last as a teenager living with us in the Tunnels, so I dismissed it as a mistake." He paused as he saw Vincent's darkening eyes. "But I'm pretty certain now it was him."

Vincent grabbed his cloak.

"Vincent, you don't think he wouldn't seriously come back here," Pascal said hurriedly "Not after..."

But his words were cut off as Vincent turned about. "If he does, I intend to find out."

"Vincent! Come back here!" Father shouted. But he was already speaking to his son's disappearing back.

Pascal and Father looked at each other sharing the same thought, for they both knew Mitch had long ago crossed that line of Vincent's forgiveness.

A little later in the soft glow of street lights filtering through the single un-shaded window Vincent stood in the sparsely furnished shabby little one bedroom apartment of the Helper Sam, who lay in bed resting, a pitcher of water and a collection of medicine bottles by his nightstand.

Sam, a trusted Helper for so many years was slowly dying and Father and other Helpers Above and Below had been doing all they could to ease his discomforts.

The old man opened his eyes staring into the dimly lit room, suddenly aware of another presence nearby.

"Hello, Sam." Vincent emerged from the shadows. "How are you doing?"

Sam closed his weary eyes, shaking his head and replied in a soft painful tone. "I've been expecting you."

"Has he been here?" Vincent inquired without preamble.

Sam opened his eyes again, but kept them averted and shook his head, "No." At Vincent's silence, Sam turned to look at him before sighing deeply. "I wouldn't lie to you, Vincent, not about this."

"I'm sorry, Sam," Vincent said stepping nearer for he truly did not wish to cause the old man any more pain. He'd already been through enough.

"There's no need to apologize, Vincent," he replied in a voice that was just above a scratchy whisper. "What Mitch did to Catherine and to all those others who ever got in his way was unforgivable, but as much as I know I should hate him I…I can't." The old man looked up at Vincent, broken. "So what does that make me, Vincent?"

Vincent sat down on the mattress next him and took the old man's fragile hand in his. "A father who remembers the boy he once was. There's no shame in that Sam."

Sam turned his head away again, then started coughing uncontrollably. Vincent lifted him into a sitting position and held him while he caught his breath, then poured him a glass of water and helped him to drink. Afterwards, Vincent propped up the pillows behind him and laid him gently back down.

"Let me take you Below, Sam, where Father can help you and where we can make you more comfortable," Vincent insisted.

But Sam shook his head adamantly as he'd done numerous times before when the offer had been made by Father and the others. "No! I don't want to leave. This is my home!" Then the old man's eyes dropped guiltily away and Vincent realized….he was waiting, hoping his son would come back…one last time.

His compassion for Sam suddenly stemmed the flow of dark anger within him. What was between Vincent and Mitch was between them and Sam didn't need to be further burdened by what he already knew. "All right Sam, but I'll be sure to send a Helper back to check on you soon, okay?"

The old man nodded relieved. "Thank you."

Vincent left quietly through the window and retreated to a rooftop across from Sam's building and silently sat watching, his thoughts dark as he brooded about the boy he'd once grown up with in the tunnels, but who had grown into a violent man full of hatred, the man who had shot Catherine in the back one night as she had tried to flee from him. It had been a dark, terrible night for Catherine had nearly died, and that night, Vincent had nearly ended Mitch's life in one fell slash of his clawed hand.

He'd only been spared when Vincent, through his bond, had felt Catherine waken and he knew she would survive. But that night, Vincent had made it also clear without further words that the next time he threatened those he loved he would not be so lenient.

Later, from Sam, they had learned Mitch had fled once again from the authorities and had not been back in New York City since, until now. And after what Pascal had told him, Vincent now wanted to know why.


	9. Chapter 8

(Revised chapter - meant to correct errors and tighten chapter up a bit based of your feedback, thanks)

**Chapter 8**

By the time Joe had finally returned to his office it was already after one. He'd just come from the hospital where he'd met up with Detective Hughs and together they had attempted to interview Jonathan Pope, Gabriel's aide, who was now conscious and made aware of his current circumstances. As expected though, the lawyer had clammed up and they had gotten little out of him, but Joe had seen the worry in Pope's eyes and they were still hopeful their reluctant, and still heavily guarded witness, would become a little more cooperative in time.

Hughs also informed him he'd met with FBI agents Tony Rodriquez and Michael Phillips who'd also been assigned to the Gabriel Crime Network Task Force earlier. Though there was little progress to report from the cryptologists, the agents had arranged a "friendly" interview with Paul Malloy, the head of Malloy Davidson and HNT that afternoon around four and they were invited to join them. Joe looked over at Hughs wondering how they had managed to pull off that little feat but wasn't going to argue the point. He then told Hughs to track down Bennett to join the party wanting to utilize her profiling expertise.

Lastly, Hughs told him they had finally identified the man found shot in Gabriel's cellar. He was a Canadian physician and had once been brilliant biochemist by the name of Paul Gillen. The good doctor had been convicted of vehicular manslaughter after killing a mother and her unborn eight-month old fetus one night while driving drunk. He'd spent five years in prison and had lost everything.

Tossing his briefcase onto his desk, Joe stretched his back before picking up the stack of messages that as usual were piled up, scanning through them until one in particular caught his attention. It was from Jenny Aronson.

Jenny, a long time friend of Catherine's, had been the one to help Joe make the funeral arrangements when both realized that after Cathy's father had passed away the year previous, she had no other living family left. Luckily for both of them Dr. Marks had been most helpful in recommending a good mortuary service, alleviating much of Jenny's distress.

The note said to give her a call if he was free. Curious he dialed the number to the publishing agency Jenny worked at in New York. A receptionist put him immediately through.

"Jenny, it's Joe Maxwell," he said.

"Joe!" She sounded delighted to hear from him. "What a surprise! I didn't really expect to hear from you so soon."

"You got my curiosity up," Joe replied. "What's up?"

"Oh, well…umm....Actually I wanted to talk to you about something concerning Cathy, if you have the time?"

He looked at his watch and realized his was starving. "Have you had lunch yet?"

"Oh-uh, no, um…I was trying to get caught up of some things before I head out of town on business, but I am pretty hungry now that I think about it."

"Then how about I treat you to a bite then?"

"I don't know if my fiancée will approve of that," Jenny said teasingly.

"Oh…uh..." Joe stammered. He then heard Jenny laugh.

"There's an Italian bistro not far from my office that serves a pretty good meal. I could meet you there in say half an hour?"

"Ok," Joe said smiling into the phone. She gave him the address.

Forty-five minutes later, Joe and Jenny were seated at a table waiting for the food they had ordered to be served. Joe sat with his shoulders a bit hunched over and fiddled with his fork after realizing he'd not seen or spoken to her since Cathy's funeral. "Look, Jenny, I'm sorry…" he began, but Jenny interrupted.

"Its okay, Joe," she put her hand on his in a gesture of friendship. "Really."

They shared idle chit chat for a while. Jenny talked about her work with the publishing company, New York, the weather, and her new fiancée.

"So when's the big event?" Joe asked.

"Next June, _if_ Dean can manage to get his boss to let him off the hook long enough for the ceremony, that is," Jenny chuckled. "He's been in Europe for the last several weeks on business and miserable about it, but he still manages to find little ways to keep me interested."

"Congratulations. You sound happy."

Jenny's mouth widened into a warm smile. "I am even if it gets complicated at times. Despite all the obstacles we have to deal with, we always seem to find a way to work things out, though. I guess the bottom line is he makes me happy."

Joe was happy for her. It was never easy finding someone special in New York City.

"And how about you?" she then asked.

He looked at her with a mixture of boyish charm and cynicism. "Me? Not much to tell. I work. Period," he replied with a shrug.

"No one special?" she asked curiously, a little teasingly.

Joe shook his head. "Except maybe my landlady every Tuesday when she needs help bringing the trash out," he jested with a lopsided grin.

Jenny laughed. "I can't quite believe that."

"It's true. Besides, there's not much time for a social life for me of late."

"I can imagine."

The waiter brought their food.

"I never did get a chance to congratulate you on winning the election for District Attorney."

"Thanks, though it hasn't exactly been a picnic of late," Joe replied.

"Yes, I've been reading about it in the papers."

Of course Jenny was referring to the fact that ever since the public had discovered the former District Attorney was linked to organized crime, the press was having a field day scrutinizing the integrity of the D.A.'s office on anything, even a minor traffic violation that passed through. They only saving grace for Joe had been that he'd been on suspension when the whole ugly business had come down and it had actually worked in his favor for the most part. With the Commissioner's full support, he'd won the election without much opposition.

"If I had known the amount of work I was getting myself involved in, I think I would have reconsidered," Joe groaned.

"No you wouldn't have," Jenny insisted. "Cathy always said you'd make a terrific District Attorney. 'Justice is in the man's blood,' she told me."

"Did she really?"

"Yes and I think she was right. She always did have a lot of faith in you, Joe." Jenny then looked down at her plate and picked at her food with her fork, her mood suddenly changing. "I'm glad you found her killer, but I still miss her."

"Yeah, I know…. Me too," Joe replied and then shifted in his seat a little. "So…you said you wanted to talk to me about something concerning Cathy."

"It's about her case," Jenny hedged. "I was just wondering if it had been closed yet."

He eyes narrowed. "Not officially. It's still part on an ongoing investigation into her murderer, but you know I can't really discuss it."

"Oh, I understand. I mean I wouldn't want you to tell me anything you couldn't anyway. It's in regards to something else. It's about Cathy's apartment."

"Her apartment?"

Jenny let out an awkward sigh. "Well, you see, last week Cathy's building superintendent called me. I'm on her contact list to call, well you know, ever since her dad passed away. Her super wanted to know if I was planning on doing anything about the apartment, you know about all her stuff. I didn't exactly know if I could just go in and take care of that or whether I needed to clear it with you first because of the case."

"Oh. I'm sorry, Jenny, I didn't even think about it." Joe felt like a heel.

She made a quick gesture with her hands, "I know, I know, Joe. You've got so much on your plate as it is. I really hated to even bother you about this." She played with the stem of her water glass.

Joe reached over and covered her hand, giving it a little squeeze. "It's never a bother, Jenny," he reassured her. "It shouldn't be a problem, either, but I just need to check with a couple of my investigator's first to make sure."

"Okay, thanks, Joe. I would appreciate it. I wanted to take back some of her personal affects. There were some favorite pictures of her, her parents, that kind of thing I'd like to keep." She paused. "I know it sounds silly, but I just hate the idea of having all of her things just thrown impersonally out and forgotten. I didn't want to have _her_ forgotten," she said, then suddenly brought up her hand to swiftly wipe away the tears threatening to brim over. "I'm sorry," she said taking a deep breath. "I promised myself I wasn't going to do that."

"It's okay, Jenny. And don't worry. No one's going to ever forget about her. I promise," Joe told her.

Jenny nodded.

There was an awkward silence before Joe ventured cautiously. "Jenny, did Cathy ever talk to you much about her personal life?"

"Well she was my best friend, we shared stuff," she shrugged.

"Cathy was a good lawyer and a good friend, but she never really liked to share much of her personal life with anyone in the office."

"Well, that really doesn't surprise me. Cathy was always very private even with a lot of her friends. I guess she got into the habit of that when her mom was so sick and died when she was only ten, but it was especially true after her attack a few years back when her face…" Jenny let the sentence fade. "It had really affected her, you know. It changed her. She closed up to all of us for a long time. It came as a total surprise to all us when we learned Cathy had quit her Dad's law firm and taken a job with the District Attorney's Office and then broken off her engagement with Tom Gunther. We kinda all thought she went a little crazy at first. But in reality, I think it was a way for her to heal."

And in retrospect, Jenny was glad Cathy had broken her engagement off with the wealthy blue-blooded architect for she had wondered if her friend had ever really been passionately in love with the man or had only accepted the proposal more to please her father who wanted to his ensure his only daughter would be "well cared for."

"Jenny, do you know if she was seriously involved with anyone else before her death?"

"Why do you ask?"

Joe shook his head. "I don't know. It was just a conversation I remember we'd had once, not long before she disappeared, I almost completely forgotten about. She'd been out of the office all week, had told everyone it was the flu, but she finally confided with me later she had been taking care of a sick friend, someone special in her life that had been going through a rough time. She seemed really down about it."

"Well, that sounds like Cathy. She always cared deeply for people." Jenny played with the rim of her water glass for a few seconds as if in thought. "But there may have been someone in her life," she finally said which made Joe looked up at her. Jenny hedged. "She always stopped short of wanting to share the details, though, and I'd known Cathy long enough to know when not push for answers."

The closest Jenny had come to Cathy actually discussing the matter in any detail was the night Joe had brought her back after a psychopath stalker had tried to drown her. Jenny had wanted to stay with her for the night, but Cathy had insisted she go home, assuring her that she would not be alone that night. For that one brief second, Jenny had seen something very deep in Cathy's eyes, something she would not put into words, but had made her friend blush. But Jenny kept this memory to herself, feeling as if Cathy had pleaded her understanding to keep her confidences that night.

"Do you think she might have still been seeing Burch?"

Jenny looked at him oddly. "Elliot Burch? The developer?"

Joe nodded.

Jenny shrugged. "Cathy did mention Elliot to me a couple of times in the past tense, but I thought she'd broken off her relationship with him a long time ago."

"She did, officially, but they still saw each other from time to time, professionally. In Elliot's position, it wasn't unusual for him to butt heads with the D.A.'s office."

Burch's desire to expand his empire of buildings across the New York skyline often met with the hard core realities of forcing low income renters and property owners out of their homes. It had been after one such case that Cathy had abruptly stopped seeing him.

"But even after they stopped dating," Joe continued. "I think Elliot still had a lot of feelings for Cathy, and maybe Cathy still had feelings for him. I don't know. But he was the one guy Cathy seemed ready to pin to the wall one day, and defend the next."

"I don't know, Joe," she answered honestly. "She never really said much to me. I just assumed he was part of her past."

The waiter took their plates away and served them coffee and Joe then hedged another question. "Did she ever mention anyone named Vincent then?"

"Vincent? No, why?"

"Oh, it was just a name we found on some of her personal affects in her apartment."

Jenny's eyebrows drew down in concern. "Joe, what's all this line of questioning about? Is there something else about Cathy's murder you're not telling me?" she demanded.

"No. I'm sorry Jenny. I didn't mean to upset you." He had never mentioned Catherine's pregnancy outside the small circle of investigators. It was information he still felt a privy obligation to protect, not just to the case, but to Catherine. Instead he said, "I guess I just wanted to know if Cathy had been happy that's all. She seemed to give a hundred and ten percent of herself helping others, and never really seemed to ask that much back."

"Well, that sounds like Cathy. Even in college she was always trying to prove herself to others, always tried to live up to their expectations, even if most thought she was just some rich socialite with fashionable taste in clothing who was going to get through life on her Dad's reputation. But she was so much more than that. She was intelligent, bright, witty, and she also had the biggest heart you could imagine. That's why we loved her so much," Jenny told him. "And I think in the end she _was_ happy, Joe. As crazy as that sounds after all this, I'd never seen Cathy more passionate, more alive, more focused about her life as she'd been in these last two years since working in the District Attorney's office. I think it finally gave her a purpose she'd been looking for all her life, a chance to stand outside her father's shadow and make a difference."

Joe couldn't deny that. Cathy had stuck her neck out on the line for so many people because she _had_ been passionate about her cases and maybe she had cared _too_ much sometimes. He'd seen it time and time again in how she'd fought with him about her cases, fought with him over the rights of her victims, fought with him to prosecute those that had the power, money or might to abuse those who couldn't fight back.

Jenny smiled. "And if Cathy were seriously involved with anyone, then I think he must have been truly blessed to have her."

After lunch, Joe headed back to his office briefly before taking off again for the interview with Malloy and the FBI agents, but he mulled over his conversation with Jenny wondering again at all Cathy had kept silent about.


	10. Chapter 9

(Revised chapter - meant to correct errors and tighten chapter up a bit based of your feedback, thanks)

**Chapter 9**

Diana looked at the address Father had given her and matched it to the brownstone building which she soon discovered had been converted into three separate units, one occupying each level of the building. Climbing the old wooden stairway to the second level, she knocked on the door of the middle unit.

After several moments without answer, she knocked again. "Hello? Anyone home? Professor Cummings?"

Several more moments passed and she was about to give up when she thought she heard the slow shuffle of feet then the door opened. A tall, very elderly and very thin man greeted her.

"Professor Cummings?"

"Yes," he said a little apprehensively.

"My name is Diana Bennett. A mutual friend of ours gave me your name and thought you might be able to help me."

"What friend?"

Diana held out the note Father had given her. It was grasped by a shaky hand gnarled in deformity by severe arthritis. But when the man read the note, the long gaunt looking face with its sunken cheeks and eyes deeply set brightened and the thin lips widened into a warm broad smile.

"Come in, come in," he bid her waving the arthritic hand eagerly and shuffling back a few steps to allow her entrance. As Diana stepped inside she feared his thin frame would teeter over any minute in his haste.

"Come and sit down," he instructed as he made his way slowly towards a high back chair, leaning heavily on a cane that shook precariously with each step and glancing back at her as he spoke. "It's not often I get visitors."

As Diana crossed the room, she noticed the Professor lived in a moderately sized apartment which was stuffed with an eclectic collection of furnishings and oddities, with books of every sort crammed into every possible nook and cranny and Diana was instantly reminded of Father's chamber in the world Below, making her smile.

The Professor shakily plopped down in his chair motioning Diana to take the one directly across from him.

"I brought a few things from your friends Below," Diana said indicating the canvas bag she set next to her. "Some meals and these." She extracted a knitted scarf from Mary and then a book Father had given her.

"Oh, how kind of them to think of me!" The Professor took the items and then as he saw the title of the book, which was apparently on some lost civilization Diana had never even heard of, the Professor's ancient eyes lit up like a child. "Oh! Delightful! Just what I need!"

His gnarled fingers turned through the pages with great interest, pausing here and there nodding with some great satisfaction.

"Father said you used to work at the museum and were a Helper."

Professor Cummings looked up from the book and nodded. "Yes, for over forty years. That is until my arthritis became too bad to be of much use to anyone anymore." Diana heard the sadness in his voice. "But Jacob, that is Father to you young ones, and the rest never forget me. A Helper now helps me," he said with a grin. He then reached over to a small dish on the table next to his chair and shakily took a piece of dark looking candy out and popped it into his mouth, then offered one to Diana. "You must try these," his insisted.

"What are they?"

"Molasses chips! My favorites! Can't get these in stores anymore." He leaned over to Diana with a twinkle in his eye and whispered. "William makes them especially for me, but don't tell Father. I'm not supposed to have any sugar. But I figure at my great age, it's not going to matter that much," he chuckled.

Diana laughed, instantly liking the old guy.

"Father said you worked with antiquities in the museum."

"Yes, a most enjoyable passion that as you can see I can not relinquish," the Professor said waving his hand about the cluttered room full of a lifetime worth of his treasures. "But I'm sure you didn't come here to listen to hours of my nostalgia. What can I do for you my dear?"

Diana explained the purpose of her visit. Though the Professor's white bushy eyebrows rose slightly when she told him she was an investigator with the police department, he nevertheless listened attentively as she showed him the ring and the sketches.

"A marvelous piece of Roman antiquity indeed!" The Professor finally said after spending several minutes examining the ring closely.

Diana leaned forward in her chair. "Can you tell me anything about it?"

"Well, the stone is rare black emerald. The cut and inlay are unique even for this time period. The gold is very refined for this period as well."

"What about the designs on the sides? Do you know what they mean?"

The Professor had Diana fetch him a small ocular magnifying lens, the kind used by jewelers and spent several more minutes examining the ring, then again the sketches before nodding slowly. He pointed to the design on the right side of the ring. "If I'm not mistaken, this is an ancient symbol for the heavens of the North." Then indicating the one on the left, "And this, the element of Earth." Then he pointed to the sketch of Gabriel's ring. "And this one here depicts the heavens to the West; this, the element of Water."

North, West? Water, Earth? Diana thought. "What does all this mean?"

"Hmmm." With a shaky hand, he grabbed another molasses chip and popped it in his mouth, then sat back in his seat and closed his eyes in thought.

But after what seemed like several minutes had past, Diana wondered if the old Professor had fallen asleep. "The men who wore these rings knew each other well and I'm guessing there's an important connection between them and these two rings," she eventually said.

The Professor opened his eyes. "Indeed, I think you are quite right, but you may be mistaken on the number, my dear."

"Oh?" Diana grew curious. "How so?"

"Well," the Professor stroked the loose saggy skin around his thin neck. "My guess is there should be four."

"Four?" Diana said with some astonishment. "You mean four rings?"

"Yes, indeed. See," The Professor said referring to her sketches, "North, West – two of the Four Kingdoms of Heaven; coinciding with Water and Earth two of the Four Natural Elements. And the stone in the center inlayed into only the purest gold of this time period suggests these rings where meant only to be worn by men of great power."

Diana digested this information uneasily.

"You said one was worn by a man named Gabriel?" The Professor inquired.

Diana nodded.

"How befitting," the Professor mused.

"Why is that?"

The Professor sat back in his seat. "Well, Gabriel _was_ one of the Four Archangels. The 'Angel of Resurrection' that held the power of God's strength in his hand in the fight against the Evil One."

"Well that's pretty ironic, considering Gabriel is the bad guy here," Diana remarked.

"Indeed," The Professor agreed. "But interesting nonetheless, my dear."

When Diana finally left Professor Cumming's home, she was getting an ever grimmer profile of Gabriel and that fluttering uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach had just seemed to double.

Later that afternoon, still mulling over her meeting with the old professor, Diana Bennett stood on the viewing side of the one-way mirror looking into the conference room as the head of Malloy Davidson and HNT sat on one side of the a long conference table with two of his lawyers banking either side of him while FBI agents Tony Rodriquez and Michael Phillips and Detective Hughs sat on the other. Maxwell stood behind them. Diana, however, preferred to observe the interview undetected through the one-way mirror.

The task force was very interested in what Malloy had to say about many things including HNT's connection with the holding company in the Cayman Islands, but also about Gabriel's personal aid, Jonathan Pope, who just happened to at one time been in the employment of Malloy Davidson, as well as the private security firm the company used, and lastly, Patrick Hanlin, the young lawyer killed in a car bomb who given Joe the mysterious black book.

But so far Malloy's lawyers were doing an excellent job in sidestepping the issues as Paul Malloy sat easily back in his seat. The fact that one of Gabriel's companies _may_ have been associated with Malloy & HNT was a circumstantial coincidence at best considering that there was hardly a building project or major corporation _not_ involved with Malloy Davidson in some degree or another. As far as Pope went, he'd not been in contact with the trust company in more than three years since he'd left their firm.

The questions then steered to the private security firm Malloy contracted with, and specifically one of their employees, Horace Beacon, the man killed in the chopper trying to escape the raid with Pope. From FBI files obtained, they had learned Beacon had a shady record in extortion and racketeering especially around the Dock Unions, not exactly someone in high standing in society. Malloy, or rather, Malloy's lawyers denied any personal knowledge of the man but emphatically promised very politely they would be cooperative and make the proper inquiries into the security firm and if there was any wrongdoing going on, Paul Malloy would be sure to let them know.

After another hour of questioning, Malloy's smile was becoming less friendly and less cooperative as they moved into a discussion about Patrick Hanlin, and Joe's own growing curiosity about how the man's lifestyle seemed to outweigh his net income by four times that amount. Joe also thought it was a curious coincidence that Hanlin had been involved in several transactions in the Cayman Islands over the last eight months before his untimely demise.

At that point Malloy's lawyers stepped in and called the integration nothing more than a fishing expedition bordering on harassment of their upstanding client and Mr. Malloy had been more than cooperative with his valuable time. But as far as what Diana could observe, the interview had gotten what Maxwell had wanted. It had wiped the grin off Malloy's face and had made the FBI's interest peaked even more.

Detective Ferrell stepped into the viewing room towards the end of the interview. He'd just come from Forensics and didn't have much additional information to report to Diana other than the fact they were still trying to make some sense out of several sets badly smudged "prints" found in the basement where they had also discovered after the raid of all things a steel cage in which the door had apparently been ripped off the hinges. It was a complete mystery as to who or what may have been imprisoned there. The investigators had also discovered video cameras installed in both the cellar and in the nursery, but no tapes or other recording devices had been confiscated.

Diana took the information in quietly.

"So how's it going?" the detective asked.

Diana shrugged. "About as to be expected. Malloy's been in this business a long time, Ferrell. I doubt he's going to just roll over and play for us. Still Joe's hopeful he can link Gabriel and the trust firm solidly together."

"Through Patrick Hanlin?"

"You know about him?" Diana questioned.

The detective nodded. "Hughs updated me. What about you?" Ferrell asked. "Find anything useful the other day? You sure booked out of Gabriel's estate in a hurry."

"Nothing positive yet. Just some ideas I'm still thinking over."

"Oh? Anything I can do to help?"

"Not at the moment."

Ferrell nodded. "Well keep us posted. The FBI is breathing down our necks for additional info."

"I'm sure they are." Diana looked at her watch.

"Hot date again?" Ferrell teased.

Diana rolled her eyes. "Yeah right. Later, Ferrell."


	11. Chapter 10

(Revised chapter - meant to correct errors and tighten chapter up a bit based of your feedback, thanks)

**Chapter 10**

"Have you seen, Father?" Kipper asked Vincent as he entered the large chamber where several children sat milling about on the collection of worn antique rugs scattered on the floor as if waiting.

Vincent shook his head. "Is there a problem?"

"We were supposed to meet him here for our lesson. It's Wednesday – Shakespeare."

"Oh. Well, perhaps he's running a bit late. Father's has been extremely busy this week."

Indeed, for in the last several days Father's attention had been needed in various parts of the Tunnels, which had left Vincent feeling guilty for this was something he normally took care of as part of his regular duties. But Mary had assured him, quite firmly, that Father was fine and that the only worry that would elevate his blood pressure would be to find Vincent going against his request again to get some needed rest. Seeing Mary's irritation at him as well, Vincent had dutifully decided not to argue the point further.

Upon hearing of Father's busy schedule though, Kipper and several other boys smiled cheerfully which Vincent would have to have been obtuse not to notice. "Oh, that's okay. We understand. We can always come back another time, can't we guys?"

Several heads nodded eagerly together and the children made movements to get up off the floor.

"Oh, but I would hate to have you miss such an exceptional opportunity, for Shakespeare knew everything," Vincent replied. "I'm sure I could fill in adequately until Father returns."

The unison of "ughs" and slumped shoulders made Vincent grin. He sat down in Father's chair resting his elbows on the armrest and interlacing his fingers as he leaned slightly forward. "What are you studying this week?"

"Macbeth, Act IV," Kipper replied.

"Ah," Vincent said and quoted:

"Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak .

Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break."

Vincent saw a few eyes roll and smiled in gentle understanding, for as a boy he remembered too the joys of just wanting to be a child sometimes. "Why don't we take turns reading where you left off?" Vincent suggested.

His gaze passed around the group of about seven children until he noticed the quiet sandy haired boy sitting towards the back of the group, head bowed and picking intently at something on his pants. "Eric, will you start us out?"

The boy looked up startled, his wide eyes looking even bigger through the thick lenses of the oversized glasses he wore. "I'm…I'm not a very good reader," Eric said rather self consciously.

Vincent felt a particular compassion towards the boy, knowing how difficult it was for Eric to re-adjust since loosing Ellie.

"Just give it a try," Vincent said encouragingly as the book was passed back to Eric.

Slowly he opened the aged book to the marker where they had left off in their studies earlier and with head bowed, slowly read a passage from Malcolm, one of the characters in Macbeth, in a voice that struggled with some of the words:

"Let us rather

Hold fast the mor..mortal sword, and, like good men,

Be…bestr..ide..bestride our down-… fall…fall'n birthdoonm..uh..

brithdom: each new morn…

Kipper and several of the other boys giggled, making Eric falter.

"You are among friends here Eric who all started just like you. If they laugh it is not to intentionally make fun of you, but is only to remind themselves of their own beginnings." Vincent looked at Kipper. "Isn't that right, Kipper?"

Kipper looked a little shamefaced, and nodded. "Sorry, Eric."

"But this is hard!" Eric said.

"Learning often is, but your perseverance will grant you so many more rewards in life."

"But I hate reading! It's dumb!"

"Only because the words have not yet become your best friend, Eric, a friend that opens up the world to you and shows you places and possibilities only limited by your imagination. It becomes a friend who makes you laugh when you are sad, calms you when you are angry and comforts you when you feel alone."

Eric didn't seem highly impressed and Vincent merely smiled gently back. "Eric, have you ever seen an elephant's child in real life?"

"You mean a baby elephant?" Eric asked. "At the zoo once, with Ellie."

"Did you know I never have?"

"Really?"

Vincent shook his head. "But Father used to say I was just like one."

The large eyes widened behind the coke bottle glasses. "But you don't look anything like a baby elephant," Eric replied matter-of-factly.

Vincent shrugged. "Well, that's what Father told me I reminded him of when I was young boy." He cocked his head slightly to the side. "Eric, were you ever curious as to know where an elephant's child got its trunk?"

Eric shook his head.

"As a boy I was, for a trunk on an elephant seemed such a strange and marvelous thing to have."

And before Eric or any of the other children were aware of it, they were sitting in a semi-circle around Vincent and leaning in close. Using rich deep tones and inflections of his voice, Vincent told them the story of "The Elephant's Child," by Rudyard Kipling. It was the tale an elephant from old, who at that time "had no trunk. He had only a blackish, bulgy nose, as big as a boot, that he could wriggle about from side to side" and "who was full of 'satiable curiosity".

The elephant's child asked many questions and was often spanked for being so curiously annoying. Then one day he wanted to know what a crocodile ate, and was spanked again for his 'satiable curiosity so he decided to go find out himself. He traveled a long way until he found the crocodile and asked him what he ate. And the crocodile, being of course a crocodile, bid him to come closer so he could explain. And the elephant's child did so because of his 'satiable curiosity. But then the crocodile reached out and grabbed the elephant's child by his stubby little nose. The elephant's child had to pull and pull in order to keep the crocodile from pulling him in the water and with the help of a giant python, at last he broke free.

But an amazing thing had happened. His blackish, bulgy nose that had been so useless before had been stretched out very far and to the elephant child's delight became a most handy instrument, for now he could pick up his food and eat it, he could swat a fly on his back with it when it annoyed him, he could squirt water on his back to cool him, but best of all he could spank back when his family tried to spank him for his 'satiable curiosity.

Eric and several of the children laughed through the tale as Vincent animated the story through inflections of his deep textural voice and movement of his hands.

"I've never heard that story. Where did find it?" Eric asked.

Vincent leaned back in the chair and tipped his head slightly as he picked up a leather bound edition from the table turning it thoughtfully over in his hand. "In the pages of book," he said with a smile.

From the chamber's entrance there was a stern clearing of a throat. "I do not recall anywhere in the study of Macbeth the significance of an elephant's trunk," a distinct British accent remarked and all turned to see Father entering the room.

Vincent bowed his head as his father walked across the room leaning heavily on his cane.

"Forgive me, Father. It's my fault," Vincent said in his most serious tone, but when he looked up, Father saw the twinkle of amusement in his son's eyes. "We became distracted by our curiosity."

Father sighed and looked dryly at Vincent above the rim of his glasses. "Yes, that was a common problem I use to have with you and Devin as boys, as I recall."

Vincent smiled guiltily. Devin, whom he'd always equated more to an older brother was perhaps even more curious than Vincent about life and his quest for adventure. As boys growing up in the Tunnels it had often gotten the two of them in much trouble with Father, as Vincent recalled fondly, though it seemed Devin got the worst end of Father's disapproval simply because he was the oldest. Yet, Vincent had always idolized Devin because he was the one boy out of all the others he'd grown up with who included Vincent in his dreams and adventures.

"I'm sorry I'm so late for our lesson," Father apologized, consulting his worn pocket watch which hung from a fob. "But it appears the hour of our study time has passed and William is awaiting all of you for the midday meal. So I'm afraid we will just have to re-schedule our lesson on Macbeth for another time."

The children looked at each other and smiled excitedly as they clamored out of the chamber.

"Eric, just a moment," Vincent called out to the boy before he could retreat.

"Yes?" The young boy came over to Vincent, looking a little unsure.

Vincent got up out of his seat and went across the room to a bookcase crammed with leather bound editions. After a few minutes of searching he came back and, leaning over until his great height was at eye level to the child, handed a small book to Eric "Perhaps you will find this one a little more entertaining than Macbeth."

"What is it?" Eric asked.

"The story of a boy named Tom and his best friend Huck, who had a knack for finding adventures along the Mississippi River. Just give it a try. You may find a friend somewhere in the pages."

Eric smiled. "Okay, Vincent. I'll try," the boy said shyly and hurried off.

Father scratched the back of his head and cleared his throat again as if there had been something stuck in it.

Vincent slowly walked around the large octagonal table in Father's chamber replacing Macbeth back in its original stack. "So how long were you standing there Father?" he asked.

"Long enough," Father chuckled. "I think I'm as bad as the children when it comes to listening to you tell a story."

Vincent cocked his head slightly to the side in amusement. "I had a good teacher."

But Vincent had chosen the story to tell Eric for another reason, too. He had listened to Catherine tell the tale to the gypsy boy Tony Ramos one night while he was standing hidden on her balcony. She had read the story so beautifully as if she knew how to make the magic come alive from the pages of the book.

"It was a nice thing you did for Eric," Father said.

Vincent nodded. "He misses Ellie a great deal still."

"I know." Father sat down tiredly in his chair and after propping his cane rubbed his bad leg which tended to ache when he was up on his feet too many hours. "I wish we could take away all their pain."

"Some pain just takes a lot longer to heal from, Father," Vincent said placing his hand on Father's shoulder.

Father covered his son's hand with his own and gave it a small squeeze but which spoke volumes in understanding. "Yes, they do," he said very sadly.

"You look tired, Father. Would you like Mary to make you some tea?"

"That would be nice."

Vincent departed and soon returned with a tray, which in addition to the tea, also included some stew and bread enough for two. "I was informed we are both required to eat and that no crumbs should remain," Vincent told his father with humor.

"Then I guess we best comply," Father remarked and broke the bread.

"You've been gone most of the morning," Vincent said.

"Yes. I was with Toummie and Carter. We were still trying to figure out the best way to deal with the breech in the Central Park tunnel exit."

The Central Park exit, hidden behind a metal panel in a large storm drain located in an isolated section of the park had been where Vincent and Catherine had often met secretly. When the professional hunter Gabriel had sent to find and kill Vincent had somehow tracked him back to the tunnel entrance, he'd used explosives to break through the door.

Through Diana, Vincent had learned much later the white haired hunter's name had been Snow. And, through Snow, he had learned Gabriel's name and eventually obtained the clue that had led him to Catherine's killer and his son. It had been the unusual ring Snow had removed to lure Vincent out into the open. In the end, the ploy had failed though.

Since then, the tunnel had been temporarily blocked off until they could best figure out how to repair the damage without arousing suspicion from work crews above. Vincent used an alternative park exit now when he went Above.

"Have you found a solution?"

"Not yet. Toummie thinks the door can still be repaired. It is the materials we lack to accomplish the task. In the meantime, the debris has been cleared away, a false panel inserted and the iron gate replaced and locked. We've also changed several of passage tunnels in that section as a precaution just in case."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"No," Father said adamantly. "You're supposed to be resting, remember! Mouse and Jamie are doing searches Above for salvage parts needed to repair the door, along with our Helper, young Tony Ramos."

"Jamie will have her hands full then if she is dealing with both Mouse and Tony when it comes to the procurement of legally salvaged parts," Vincent mused. For if the gypsy boy Tony often times stretched the definition of salvageable at times, Mouse was as equally guilty. In Mouse's opinion, if it was lying around Above or stored in some old warehouse and covered in dust it was fair game.

"Why do you think I sent Jamie with them," Father chuckled. "I still have a grand piano in the lower chambers I have no idea what to do with!"

Vincent sat back in his seat. "Rolley does. I heard him playing again. He wasn't aware I was there."

"Rolley playing," Father said with some surprise. "Are you sure?"

Vincent nodded. "Alone, at night, in the solitude of the dark, but yes, he plays and his music is filled with sadness and fragility but also hope. It is very beautiful Father, just like Rolley."

Rolley, the music protégé they had discovered as a troubled boy about ten years ago, could play anything on the piano that he'd heard just once, but could not read music or had any clue as to the origins of the classical compositions he played so sweetly. With the help of wonderful teacher they'd been able to slowly draw the passion out of this very quiet black boy. But events in Rolley's troubled life Above had been too great, and they had lost the boy Rolley for several years until the day Vincent had found him again as a young adult strung out on heroin. He and Catherine had tried to help him, but at that time, Rolley still unable to deal with his tormented past, had fled. It had broken Vincent's heart to see such a beautiful soul without hope and Vincent had despaired that Rolley had truly and forever been lost to them.

Then during a time when Vincent's own faith and hope begun to waver in his grief over Catherine and his frustration at not being able to find his son, Rolley had returned to them like a prodigal son. And then for the first time in over a decade, Rolley had felt the music again and he had played. And as Rolley played, it had instilled hope in Vincent again that all things could be possible.

Father was clearly moved by the news. "I would love to hear that."

"Perhaps, one day, Father you will when Rolley is ready to share his music with others again."

They finished their meal and afterwards, Father challenged Vincent to a game of chess, which to Father's ongoing annoyance, wasn't as challenging for his son as it used to be. Nevertheless when Vincent agreed to the match, Father eagerly got out his prized ebony and white chess board and set it up, for as everyone knew, Father was as passionate about chess and he was about classic literature.

However, when Vincent reached over and took his Knight and put his put his King in jeopardy for a second time in less than the space of ten moves, Father's annoyance became pronounced. "You know, at one time a son had some respect for his father!"

Vincent laughed as Father leaned over and examined the board. When Father reached over and pick up his Rook, Vincent tilted his head curiously to the side causing Father to pause then lower the piece back down. His brows descended into a straight line and once again he scrutinized the board. Vincent leaned back in his chair to relax and to watch his father with amusement….

….Vincent was standing in daylight, in the middle of a small clearing and looking up at the beauty of the blue sky above. Upon his face could actually feel the radiant heat of the sun and in the trees he heard the sounds of birds chirping. And then as he looked around, he could actually see all the colors of the grass and trees in the sun, and the wildflowers which grew along either side of an earthen path which seemed to beacon him.

Compelled and delighted, he followed it as it led him further into the woods. The path wound gently through trees which sometimes grew together and arched above his head and along a slow moving stream which trickled softly and all Vincent could think of was how much he longed to share this magical place with Catherine. To simply hold her hand and to walk together in the daylight.

The little stream eventually poured into a small pond and Vincent suddenly stopped at the edge of the clearing, for before him a child and a woman sat on a small wooden dock, both barefoot and in shorts. Not wishing to frighten them yet curiously drawn, Vincent quickly stepped back behind the trees. He was less than ten feet away and could hear their voices clearly.

"What are you doing?" the woman asked.

The little girl shrugged. "Just drawing." She hummed as she drew seeming intent upon her task while a plastic baby doll lay next to her.

"What are you drawing?"

The little girl proudly held up a child's crayon picture of a park scene full of trees and green grass and a blue sky.

"And who's this?" the woman asked pointing to a stick finger way up high in a tree.

The girl smiled. "That's me silly! But don't worry. I won't fall."

And then the woman pointed to a small dark circle in the drawing, off to the side, almost hidden. "And what's this?"

The little girl became very quiet. "I'm not supposed to tell," she whispered. "It's a secret."

"Oh?"

The girl nodded.

"Well, is it a special place?" the woman teased.

"Oh, yes." The girl's eyes sparkled.

"What's so special about it?"

The girl leaned in close. "It's where I keep my heart."

Then all of a sudden, as if aware of being watched, the little girl looked up from her drawing and turned towards the trees. Vincent stepped quickly back further concealing himself in the shadows. But oddly, it was as if she knew he was there and didn't seem to be afraid or even surprised by his presence, only curious. Slowly she stood up, holding the plastic baby doll in her arms, then she smiled into the shadows as if he were a secret friend and Vincent couldn't help but smile back.

Then a dark shadow crossed over the sun and Vincent looked up to see black clouds covering the blue sky and a gust of wind suddenly blew a pile of dead leaves up in the air, swirling them madly about, obscuring his view. Vincent held his arm up to protect his face against the onslaught and when he looked back at the girl, she was no longer there, nor the woman. Instead Catherine stood on the dock barefoot and wearing a hospital gown. And before her stood Gabriel. And in her eyes he saw her fear and watched as she clutched the plastic baby doll tightly in her arms.

"Catherine!" he called out and tried to run towards her, but his legs were suddenly rooted to the ground by vines wrapped around his calves and twisting upward around his thighs. He could not budge. Gabriel pivoted his head towards him, regarded his beastly appearance curiously his eyebrows drawing down into a straight line. Vincent started to snarl, exposing the tips of his white glistening fangs. Gabriel eyes slid up to his as if making some kind of connection, then turned his attention curiously back to Catherine.

Vincent's heart started to pound and he growled savagely now, his lips pulled back, mouth open, the canine's sharp and now deadly exposed, as his clawed fingers raked desperately over the vines in an attempt to break their hold upon him. Powerless to help, he watched as Catherine slowly began backing up along the dock as Gabriel advanced with even sure paces. And then she was at the end of the dock and as she stepped back her bare foot faltered in midair, and Vincent watched in horror as she plunged into the waters of the lake.

Vincent's perspective suddenly shifted and now he was looking up at Gabriel through the wavering water as the tall dark figure stood staring back. And as he watched through Catherine's fearful hopeless eyes, Gabriel slowly reached down and picked up the plastic baby doll and the thin lips stretched into a cold cruel smile.

Catherine opened her mouth to scream, but couldn't as the icy water rushed in. And then, the darkness quickly enveloped her like a protective cloak and Vincent let out a terrible roar….

"Vincent!"

Father was beside him. Vincent was now standing, the chair he'd been sitting in having been knocked over and practically flung across the room. He let out a guttural cry as a wave of dizziness washed over him and grabbed hold of the table to steady himself, knocking the chess board aside and scattering the pieces in every direction.

"Vincent what is it?" Father demanded then he heard. "Mary! Thank God. Help me please, get the chair."

A second later, Vincent was being pushed back into his seat. It was several seconds later before the dizziness passed and Vincent was able to look up into Father's concerned eyes. Mary hovered a few feet away, her face pale and pinched.

"Are you all right?" Father asked.

Vincent took several deep breaths then nodded. "Yes."

Father slowly drew up his chair next to his son and sat back down, still visibly shaken. "What just happened, Vincent?"

Several long seconds seem to pass as Vincent rubbed his temple. "I'm not sure. I must have been dreaming but I don't remember falling asleep."

"More like a nightmare by your reaction," Father replied, looking at the scattered pieces about the room.

"I think I ruined the game," Vincent tried to jest.

"Though I appreciate the quick and just end to my misery, in the future please don't scare me to half to death in the process."

Vincent's hand dropped to his chest and Father's brow immediately knitted in concern. "Are you in pain again?"

Vincent shook his head. "The ache is not physical Father."

Father gave a sigh of relief. "But something has upset you greatly. What is it?"

As best as he could, Vincent explained the dream and the fear he had felt through Catherine's eyes. "But like all the others before, they make no sense."

"All the others?" Father's head snapped up. "What others?" he demanded.

Vincent bowed his head, averting his eyes from Father before letting out a tired sigh. "I didn't want to upset you."

Father's mouth thinned into a straight line. "You're upsetting me now, Vincent. How long have you been having these dreams?" It was not a question, it was a command.

"Just a little over a week," Vincent confessed.

"Just!"

"They started after Jacob's Naming Ceremony."

"Why didn't you say something?" Father's mouth thinned beneath the neatly trimmed mustached and beard heavily salted in grey.

"Because I knew you would worry," was Vincent's solemn reply.

"Damn right!" Father looked over at Mary whose face suddenly lost a few shades of color as well.

Vincent looked at Father and Mary, his guilt increasing as he saw their worry. "There was nothing either of you could have done Father."

The old man's mouth thinned even more. "Nevertheless, you should have told us. No wonder you've been exhausted all week! Vincent, I want you to tell me exactly what these dreams are about."

Slowly Vincent tried to explain them as best he could, first the strange ones about the darkness and seeing Catherine in the mist, then of the two of them dancing in the Great Hall.

"She was so beautiful, Father, so alive…and it was as if my greatest longing in my heart had finally come true. For a moment I felt as if we were one, complete…but then she vanished and I was suddenly in a place of such loneliness and of such lost hope I could hardly bare its weight upon me. And then I felt fear…but these feeling weren't mine alone."

"What do you mean?"

"That's just it Father. I can't explain it."

"Vincent, it would be perfectly understandable, in your grief to imagine…"

"Father these are different!" Vincent suddenly stood agitated, but swayed as the dizziness returned.

"Vincent! Sit down before you fall down!" Father demanded.

But Vincent remained standing, his mind a jumble of thoughts. "Father, they were not like dreams I've had before of just memories of Catherine, of my longings."

"Then what?"

He shook his head and his tawny mane swept about his face concealing his features finding it hard to put into words the raw emotions pressing inwardly into him. "It's as if these dreams were a mixture of both of us," he tried to explain. "They always seem to start out with this feeling, a longing in me to find her, to see her, to be with her again, but then they shift and it's as if…as if I'm feeling Catherine all over again."

Father's head snapped up. "How do you mean?"

Vincent let out a frustrated grunt and stood up to his full height gesturing with his hands. "Don't you see, Father! I know she's dead. In my head I know she's gone and in my heart I grieve for her and hold fast to her memories…but inside me here," Vincent spread his hand out upon his chest, "it's as if…as if we are connected as before…as if I'm feeling her very presence and her emotions reaching out to me all over again with such force I feel an almost physical pain for her!"

Mary face turned deathly white. She looked over at Father and they seemed to exchange a heavy silence. Vincent took one look at their concerned faces and guiltily stormed from the room.

Words seemed to hover on Mary's lips as the candlelight caught a swelling glint in Father's concerned eyes, before he turned away from her.

Mary clasped her hands tightly together. "I best go check on the baby. He'll be waking soon from his nap."

Later that day Mouse overheard something he was probably never meant to hear. He was just returning from another scavenging trip Above and was excited with news about parts he thought could help fix the Central Park entrance. He'd used one of his own secret access tunnels as a shortcut back and it was as he was climbing down the narrow shaft that he heard Mary's distressed voice. "He needs to be told!"

It was followed by Father. "You know why I can't, Mary."

Mouse silently climbed down lower until he caught sight of Father and Mary just below him.

Father, he noticed was dressed in the fancy clothes he wore on his very rare occasions when he ventured Above. He and Mary seemed to be arguing about something.

"How can you go on keeping such a thing from him?" Mary cried.

"Because I cannot bear to see him go through such tormenting madness again, or worse this time," was Father's reply. "Vincent's heart has already gone through a tremendous assault; I fear the truth will be too great a strain."

"But Jacob…"

Father placed his hand on the older woman's shoulder. "Mary please, I beg you to keep your council, at least until I know for sure."

"You mean the tests?" Mary sounded almost hopeful.

"We've been doing our best, but you know how fragile the situation has been from the start," Father's voice was choked with the strain of checking back his emotions.

Tears formed in Mary's eyes. "I know, I'm sorry." She collapsed into his arms and wept and Father held her as if he needed her strength as well.

"We mustn't loose hope, Mary." He pulled away from her and he leaned heavily on his cane, still clearly as distressed as she. "I…I must go."

"Of course. Is there anything you need me to do while you're gone?"

"Just keep on eye on Vincent and make sure he rests. And pray, Mary, just pray."

Mary dabbed her eyes and nodded as Mouse watched Father disappear down the dark tunnels.

Later that evening Mouse was still brooding over things as he tinkered in his chamber when Jamie arrived.

"There you are! I've been looking for you for hours! You were supposed to meet Tony and me at the salvage yard!"

"Went somewhere else. Better. Found some parts, might work, pieces to fit together," Mouse replied as he worked on some gizmo or contraption of some sort or another.

"That's great! Uh-but exactly where did you go? Not somewhere Father is going to get angry about, I hope?"

Mouse shrugged. He seemed distracted with something, which wasn't highly unusual, for Mouse was always distracted with something.

"So…what are you working on?" Jamie asked.

Mouse suddenly tossed the part aside. "Nothing. Gizmo that doesn't work." He went over to another table which had more oddities on it, including several glowing lava lamps which Mouse had a particular passion for. Mouse's pet raccoon, Arthur, was walking about the table picking up various shinny objects and he reached down and stroked the animal.

"Something bothering you, Mouse?' Jamie asked.

Mouse kept his back to her and he picked up Arthur and held him close.

"Did you get in trouble Above again?" Jamie inquired suspiciously.

Mouse turned quickly around. "No!" He then turned his back on her again. "Not that."

"Then what's bothering you?"

Mouse slowly turned his head and looked at Jamie. She saw worry in his blue eyes. "Heard Mary and Father arguing."

"Mary and Father?"

Mouse nodded.

"About what?"

Mouse scratched the raccoon's ears and shrugged. "Not sure, something bad though. Mary was crying."

"Mary was crying?" Jamie repeated.

Mouse nodded. "Father was upset too." Suddenly Mouse looked very guilty.

"Mouse, what aren't you telling me?"

"Was worried. About Father. Know I shouldn't have followed."

"You followed who? Father?"

Mouse nodded. "He went Above."

"Father went Above?" Jamie asked incredulous. Mouse nodded again. "Why would he go Above? Father hates going up top."

"To met in secret."

Jamie pulled him over to his bed and together they sat down. "Mouse you're not making much sense. Tell me exactly what happened."

Mouse relayed his story. After overhearing the conversation between Father and Mary, Mouse had followed Father to the alternative Central Park exit. There Father had walked a great distance over to one of the places where the Top Dwellers played music sometimes outside.

"The amphitheatre you mean?"

Mouse nodded. Father sat a long time on a bench while Mouse hid behind a tree. Sometime later a man appeared, about the same age as Father. Mouse recognized him as the Helper Peter that had come Below a few weeks ago after Vincent had returned with the baby and had collapsed that night complaining of pain in his chest. He had attached a strange gizmo with wires and sticky things on Vincent's chest which made squiggly lines on a screen. Father had said something about how it checked Vincent's heart. Later Father and Peter had stepped outside the chamber to talk in quiet whispers while Vincent rested. When Father came back, his face had looked very grim.

Jamie knew a little about Peter as well. He had come almost every year to Winterfest and he was also a doctor too, like Father, and often supplied their community with medication and supplies whenever he could.

"Why would Father want to meet Peter secretly?"

Mouse shoulder's sagged. "Must be something bad, I know. Something bad about Vincent." The young man looked up at Jamie and she could see his worry. "I'm afraid. Vincent is my friend."

Jamie reached over and hugged Mouse, also deeply disturbed by the news. "I know. Me too."


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

The next morning, Jamie stopped in to see Mary hoping to get some answers. She found the older woman in her chamber sleeves rolled up to her elbows and leaning over a shallow tub in the process of giving Jacob a warm bath. She looked quite happy.

Jamie looked down at the tiny infant in the tub covered in bubbles and cooing at Mary as his little fist waved in the air and she couldn't help but smile. It was still so unbelievably amazing to realize Vincent had a son.

Mary was so engrossed with her task and her enjoyment at first she hadn't noticed Jamie's arrival but then looked up and smiled at the teenager.

"He so little," Jamie said eventually stepping closer to the baby.

"Yes he is, but _so_ very precious." Mary rinsed the soap off Jacob's body.

"Can you hand me that towel, dear?"

Jamie picked up the soft cloth and gave it to Mary. The older woman dried Jacob off and wrapped him up while Jamie bit her lip not sure just where to start.

"Mary?"

"Hmmm?" she responded somewhat distracted by Jacob squirming trying to snag the towel and shove it into his mouth.

"Can I…uh…talk to you about something?"

Just then Eric ran in practically colliding into the older woman. "Mary, Mary! Come quick! Luke's got his head stuck under the bed again and Brooke needs your help right away!" Luke was a very busy toddler who had the knack of getting into loads of mischief.

Startled, Mary looked down at the anxious child. "Where's Olivia?" she asked. Olivia was Luke's mother.

"She went with some of the older kids to help pick up the food supplies in the East Tunnels," Eric said breathlessly. "She left Luke with Brooke. Brooke said she only turned her back on him for a minute."

"That's all that boy ever needs! Jamie can you go help Brooke?"

Jamie put up her hands and stepped back. "Not me! The last time I did that, Luke bit me and wouldn't let go!" Jamie held up her finger. "Look, I still have the scar to prove it!"

"Hurry! Brooke said to bring you back right away!" Eric said, tugging anxiously on Mary's skirt.

Mary let out an exasperated sigh. "Lands sakes! Very well." Then to Jamie's total surprise, Mary handed Jacob to her.

Jamie, being a full fledged tom-boy and having never held a baby, baby, looked at Mary with some astonishment. "What I am supposed to do with him?"

"There's a diaper and some clean clothes over there. Just get him dressed and I'll be back soon."

"But…but…but…"

But Mary had already left, having been practically dragged from the room by an anxious Eric.

Jamie now left alone with Jacob stood in the middle of the room holding the child out in front of her like he was a strange alien object. But then Jacob opened his tiny little mouth and stuck out his tongue. This made Jaime laugh.

"So you don't think I can do this, huh?" she said to the baby who simply smiled back with innocent eyes. "Okay…well, I'll just have to prove to you I can."

She went over to the bed and gently laid Jacob down, then looked around for his clothes, finding them in a nearby pile. But when she held up the large square cloth diaper and examined it, she scratched her head perplexed. Looking down at the baby, she said, "I don't suppose you can give me a clue on how this thing goes on, can you?" Jacob merely blew a little spit bubble back at her.

"Didn't think so," Jamie muttered. "Okay…if I can make a crossbow and arrows, I think I can figure out how to put this thing on."

After several attempts with different folding techniques, Jamie thought she finally got it figured out. "There!" She held Jacob up to exam her handiwork and to her dismay, the diaper slid off the baby's bottom. It was immediately followed by a warm flowing stream.

Jamie nearly dropped Jacob on the bed in her panic. "Oh no! Stop! Stop!" Her high pitched voice startled Jacob and his face pinched up and he started to cry.

"Is something the matter?" Jamie suddenly heard Vincent's deep voice behind her.

She turned around embarrassed. "Uh…no…uh…I mean…help! I don't know what I'm doing!" she finally confessed.

Awkwardly she handed Jacob to him positive she had broken him. Immediately in his father's arms the infant stopped crying.

"Where's Mary?" Vincent inquired and Jamie quickly relayed Luke's latest mishap. Vincent smiled in understanding.

"I'm sorry Vincent," Jamie apologized. "I'm pretty lousy at this."

"There's no need to apologize," Vincent replied softly. "Would you like me to show you how it's done?"

"You know how to do this?" Jamie looked surprised.

"Of course, Mary taught me," Vincent said, but then leaned over and said with an amused smile. "But the diaper fell off on me as well the first time."

Jamie laughed. She watched as Vincent dressed his son, and then he laid down sideways on Mary's bed propping himself up on one elbow and held his hand above the baby watching as Jacob's tiny hands determinably tried to grasp his hairy fingers and claws and pull them towards him.

It was such an odd scene, Vincent's massive frame and clawed fingers hovering over the small child, but as Jamie watched, the beastly features softened in delight as Jacob's intensity to his task grew and all she could think of was they just looked so perfect together.

At last Jacob captured one of Vincent's fingers in a double fisted grip and using his tiny arms pulled his head and shoulders up off the bed until he was practically sitting, then looked up into his father's eyes, smiled and emitted a triumphant coo before sinking his mouth onto one of Vincent's knuckles.

"He has Catherine's determination," Vincent said with pride.

"Father said you and he have a bond, like you did with Cathy?"

"Hmmm. A very powerful one, but different too."

"Oh. How so?"

Vincent continued to watch his son. "Because it flows both ways. We give each other strength like the ebb and flow of the tides."

"How is that different from what you had with Catherine?"

Vincent's eyes dropped low and Jamie thought she had pried too much. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"No, it's all right, Jamie," Vincent reassured her in soft deep tones. "It's just those memories are…deeply treasured."

He extracted his knuckle from the baby's mouth and as Jacob settled onto his back again, he immediately brought his foot up and pulled off one of his socks, then proceeded to grasp his entire foot and pull it towards his mouth.

Vincent watched his son's determination as he talked quietly in a voice of remembrance. "You see my connection with Catherine was very unique. I could feel what she felt, her emotions, her fears and her joys. It allowed me to experience so many things with her, even when we were apart, even at great distances. And it made me love her more deeply every day. But our connection was one way," he tried to explain. "You see I could feel everything Catherine felt, but she could only guess at my emotions. And yet…she loved me completely." His head dropped and tilted slightly to the side as if becoming lost in sad thoughts. "After my illness, I'd lost that connection with her. I was so devastated, but Catherine told me not to worry, that it would return one day, and if it didn't it had been a gift. And if that gift was gone, another would replace it." Vincent tickled his son's foot. "I didn't know entirely what she had meant then, but I do now."

"Jacob," Jamie said.

Vincent nodded. "As long as I have my son, I will forever have a piece of her." But the thought saddened him as well, for Jacob would never know Catherine's touch, her laughter, her joy as she raised him.

"I wish I still had a piece of my mom," Jaime said sadly.

Vincent's head lifted and he regarded the teenager with compassion. "You were very young when she died and came here to live Below, yet old enough to still have some memories?"

Jamie shrugged. "Sometimes, I guess. I don't even remember what she looks like. But sometimes in my dreams, I imagine she's still there. Just waiting in case I need her, I guess. I know that sounds kinda silly, but it makes me feel safe."

Vincent's features were full of gentle understanding. "It's not silly Jamie. A mother's love is a very powerful and mysterious bond that can hold a child close in times of need."

"Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm really happy here," she said hurriedly. "I'd never want to be anywhere else. You, and Father, Mary, Mouse, Pascal…everyone here I love. They are my family."

"I know Jamie. What we have down here is very special. It links us all closely to one another, but a child will always have a special need for its mother, no matter the time or distance and there is no shame in that, only comfort."


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

The bouquet of fresh flowers almost obscured the view of the young woman carrying them as she hurried down the corridor. Turning sideways, she used her shoulder and hip to push open the swinging door which led into the large room which was sectioned off into eight cubicle units with a center aisle in between.

The woman, a bouncy African American, with an _insanely_ optimist outlook on life quickly set the vase of flowers down on the small desk at the end of the room and took off her jacket which she flung over the back of a chair.

From behind the vase of flowers, Steven Welks poked his head around sideways, smiling. "Morning, Angie, you're _late…_" he said in teasing tones.

"I know. I know," she grinned back. "But I couldn't resist stopping by the flower market first!" She threw her purse haphazardly into the desk drawer and quickly went about straightening her hair from the wind outside while humming an energetic tune.

"So how was the party last night, or do I need to ask?" Steven inquired.

Angie smiled brightly. "Fabulous! What can I say? I love to dance! How about you?"

Steven shrugged. "About the same as usual. I even tried out some new material last night and got nothing." He whispered to her. "They're an extremely tough crowd!"

Angie chuckled at her co-worker, a handsome Caucasian man in his late thirties with a wide charming smile beneath a short neatly trimmed beard. "Don't give up. I'm sure you'll be able to make an impression on one of them soon."

She consulted her watch then went over and picked up a clipboard off the desk flipping through several sheets of paper. "Looks like another busy day." She winked. "Guess I better get my booty to work." She went over to the first cubicle and after straightening her blouse and switching her tone to a more serious and professional one, knocked on the door frame.

"Good Morning, Dr. Van Buren," she greeted pleasantly, "I apologize, I'm running a bit late today."

Habitually she went about straightening the cubicle up of clutter as she spoke briefly with Dr. Van Buren, for the distinguished man disliked disorder in any way shape or form. He remained, as usual, stoically non talkative, but this didn't offend Angie in the least, for the two had a long time quiet understanding with each other that Dr. Van Buren simply was _not_ a morning person. From a binder nearby, she glanced through several sheets of paper making her necessary notes. "I'll be back promptly at ten for our meeting," Angie promised, for Dr. Van Buren also disliked tardiness.

Next she stopped and greeted Mrs. McKee in a more relaxed fashion. Mrs. McKee was not quite as old as Dr. Van Buren but had been with the research group nearly as long. In her mid fifties, she was a woman who always detested looking old and Angie was pleased to see her advice had been taken and Mrs. McKee was now sporting a fresh new hair cut and coloring Angie had seen in the latest fashion magazines which gave the woman a more youthful energetic appearance, which or course Angie immediately complimented her on. As with Dr. Van Buren, she consulted the necessary paperwork she would need to attend to that day before letting her know she'd be back around eleven.

Angie continued her rounds checking in with each of her group members in a similar fashion until she finally stopped in at the last cubicle and checked on Sarah Pennington who was the newest member of the group. She'd only been with them a few short months.

Sarah was a slim petite woman with a natural beauty about her and much closer to Angie's own age. Over the last few months they had struck up a quiet sort of friendship. Angie was glad to see Sarah was looking better today after a nasty virus had made her quite ill. She'd been pretty worried about her little friend over the last week. But today she had a surprise for her she hoped would cheer her up.

Angie entered the cubicle flashing a smile. "Now I know you didn't want a big fuss or anything," Angie began, "but I was passing by the flower market anyway and just couldn't resist. Happy Birthday!" Angie said presenting Sarah with the vase full of flowers. Sarah remained speechless and Angie smiled coyly. "Now, I know you wanted to keep it a secret from everyone, but I have my ways of finding out girlfriend!" she teased. "Besides, we need to brighten up this drab place just up a bit you know!"

She set the vase of flowers down on the table and spent a few minutes rearranging them until the fragrance filled the air. "I just love lilacs! My grandma used to plant them all along her front porch and every time I get a whiff of them, it reminds me of her." Then as she turned from the task, she inadvertently knocked a book off the table and onto the floor. "Oops."

Just then Steven popped his head in and bent down and retrieved it. "Oh, good, I was looking for that, thanks! Must have left it in here earlier."

Seeing the title, Angie looked at him oddly. "Yours?"

Steven grinned a little sheepishly. She was about to say that he didn't seem much the type for classic poetry, but who was she to judge, she preferred Westerns. Steven tapped on his watch and Angie eyes widened as she consulted hers. "Oh crumb! I'm late for my meeting with Dr. Bernstein! She'll have my hide if I'm not there this time!" She turned to Sarah. "Sorry, girlfriend, gotta run, but I'll catch you for lunch, promise!"

Steven watched her go, shaking his head at the bubbly young woman. But after she left he lingered in the doorway of Sarah's cubicle. As he gazed at the quiet reserved woman before him, he tried to hide the sadness he felt in his heart but his smile faltered. Finally he said, "Happy Birthday, kiddo. I'll see you again tonight, okay?"

Sarah remained silent, her head slightly averted away from his, but Steven didn't take offense. He understood the reason for her quietness and didn't push. She just needed some time to sort herself out. It had been a rough few months. He came over and gently kissed her forehead before stowing the book into his knapsack and departing.

***

Vincent slowly walked across the ancient wooden bridge that passed through the Chamber of Whispers, an enormous naturally carved out vertical cavern which dropped down into an unknown depth that provided one of the primary sources of ventilation to their world Below. Here, unlike the Chamber of Winds, another ventilation cavern further away, the winds were much calmer, sometimes eerily still. But when they blew just right and one stood in just the right spot, sounds, carried from unknown places in the world Above, passed through the chamber and echoed off the vaulted walls like mysterious phantoms, sometimes so clear one moment then instantly disappearing the next.

It was one of Vincent's favorite secret places to come, especially as a boy, because he loved to listen to the mysterious voices and try to imagine what the faces Above looked like to match them. It was also a favorite secret place to play as children for it made the game of hide and seek so much more interesting.

As he got older though and watched as some of the other children he'd grown up with leave his world, sometimes temporarily but often times parting forever, Vincent sought the Chamber of Whispers for company in times of loneliness and found great peace in the voices and the times spent reading his treasured collection of books.

And today, Vincent sought its company again. Though he'd much preferred to spend the afternoon with Jacob, he was forced to concede to the fact that he was required to share his son with the other members of his "family". At the moment Jacob was being "borrowed" by Brooke and a couple of the other teenage girls as part of their "social studies" lessons, or so he'd been told. In teasing tones, Brooke had told him she would return Jacob in a few days and Mary had laughed at Vincent's uneasy expression.

When Vincent had then sought Father's whereabouts, once again he was not about and when he questioned Mary, she seemed very distracted and told him Father was probably with Toummie and Carter. But when he found them, they told him he had been there earlier but they hadn't seen him since and suggested he was probably with Cullen and several others in the Great Hall getting the grand chamber ready for Winterfest which was fast approaching. As a matter of fact, most of the Dwellers had been in high gear for the last several weeks with preparations.

And so it was, on his way down to the Great Hall, that Vincent had run into Rolley. The young quiet black man was carrying a wooden crate full of white candles and greeted Vincent a little nervously, a little shyly, for he still had bad days overcoming the years of his heroin addiction. But with Father's help and the support of many of the community, he's been clean for the past few months and tried to stay busy helping out however he could. But lately, Rolley had taken a keen interest in helping Sara, the candlemaker, create the thousands of candles they would be using for Winterfest. And for the first time, in a long time, Vincent had seen Rolley smile as he hurried off. This gladdened Vincent's heart tremendously for he'd never met a more beautiful soul than the young man so gifted in music and yet so fragile still in spirit.

When Vincent finally entered the Great Hall, Father was not about, but spied Cullen across the chamber surrounded by several women all demanding something from the frazzled looking wood carver.

"What about the rods, Cullen? You know we can't hang the tapestries until they are repaired."

"And I found three chairs with broken legs so far that will need to be fixed."

"And what about the stage?" Olivia asked.

Cullen's head abruptly swiveled about as he looked at Olivia. "What stage?"

Olivia rolled her eyes. "The one the children wanted you to build for the play they're doing this year."

"I wasn't told about any stage!"

"Of course you were. Weeks ago!" Olivia insisted.

Cullen raised a finger up in the air. "Now look Olivia, I think I would have remembered a conversation about a stage!"

It was then Jamie happened to be walking by carrying a pile of draperies and Olivia practically yanked her over to them. "Jamie! Tell him."

"Tell him what?" Jamie said, totally confused.

Olivia put her hands on her hips, exasperated. "Tell him about the stage, Jamie. You were standing right there when the children asked him weeks ago, remember? For their play."

"Oh yeah," Jamie agreed, a broad smile appearing on her face as she saw Cullen's sour expression.

Olivia crossed her arms smugly.

Cullen opened his mouth as if to argue the point further, then shut it in defeat as something seem to painfully click in the back of his brain. He exhaled very deeply. The wood carver then picked up his tool box and exited the Great Hall muttering under his breath.

Vincent smiled sympathetically at Cullen's frustration, though he knew in his heart, Cullen thrived on the fact he felt so needed. Seeing an opportunity to assist, Vincent asked if there was anything he could do, but was quickly ushered out by Olivia who said she had everything under control and Vincent knew Father had gotten to her as well.

So, it was after this that Vincent finally retrieved one of his favorite books and retreated to the Chamber of Whispers and once again had settled in one of his favorite spots, on one of the uppermost bridges. But after a while, he propped his back against the wooden railing and just listened to the whispers that occasionally echoed past. The breeze shifted and it was then Vincent caught part of a floating conversation.

"Don't forget to light the candles! _Hurry_, we don't want to spoil the surprise."

"Do you think he'll like it?" another smaller breathless voice echoed.

"It's beautiful, I'm sure he'll love it."

Then the wind changed and the conversation vanished. Vincent leaned his head back and closed his eyes, for it brought to mind a treasured memory…

…He walked slowly around lighting the dozens and dozens of white candles on the walls and ledges and in holders and stands of every shape and size until the chamber was filled with a glowing shimmering light. A few seconds later he felt her presence even before he heard her approaching.

"Vincent?" Catherine called out.

"In here," he beaconed.

Breathlessly she entered the chamber carrying a wicker basket but stopped short as she saw the radiant glow of the candles against the stone walls.

"Oh…Vincent…" she marveled.

"You like it?"

"It's beautiful." Her eyes swept the chamber. "It's perfect. How could Kannen carve solid rock into something as beautiful as this?"

And looking at Catherine, his thoughts ran on a similar line in regards to this remarkable woman.

"Because he trained himself. I don't think he knows what can't be done."

Catherine smiled in a way that had always made his heart skip a beat. "That explains why he expected me to get lilacs at this time of year," she mused holding up her basket.

He could feel her delight though at being allowed to participate in the secret surprise. Kannen, a master stone carver who had lived in the Tunnels for a long time, was responsible for carving out or refining many of the chambers to match the needs of their growing community. It kept him very busy, often at the expense of completing his own projects. But that day Kannen had finally finished the new chamber he'd been promising his wife Olivia for some time, especially needed now with the new addition to their family. Kannen had wanted to surprise Olivia with it's completion for their anniversary.

"When he asked me to light the candles, I though he meant four or five."

Instead Vincent had discovered dozens and dozens of them and he'd been busy for the last half hour rushing to get them all lit.

Catherine laughed. "How much time do we have?" she whispered as if afraid they'd get caught.

"We should hurry."

Catherine smiled broadly then went quickly about spreading the bunches of flowers about the chamber. "Was Olivia's first husband this romantic?" she almost giggled.

"How could I judge?" Vincent said with some amusement. "I didn't know Kannen was this romantic." He lit a few more candles then pointed to a second chamber. "In there too."

Catherine looked at him with some surprise then went in to investigate like an excited child. When she entered though she stopped as she saw a beautiful white bed in the middle of the room. It had an intricately carved white headboard and a soft comforter on top and in the candlelight it radiated in a magical glow.

Vincent paused in his task as he watched Catherine's reaction and through his bond with her felt the array of emotions flow within and briefly felt the ache in that space in her heart still left unfilled and which she did not demand from him. Without a word though she hurriedly finished arranging the flowers upon the bed and straightening the pillows, then stepped back and admired her work.

"You think Olivia will like this room?" He asked.

Catherine turned and for a second her eyes were an open window to her heart. "Olivia will love this room," she finally said then quietly left the bed chamber.

Vincent remained behind to finish his task but his joy in helping participate in Kannen's anniversary surprise was now mix with envy in his heart for both he and Catherine knew this part of their love could never be.

And then Catherine was standing before him. She slipped her arms about his waist and held him close. Vincent's arms wrapped around her shoulders and she pressed her cheek against his chest. When she looked up at him with those beautiful deep green eyes, they were filled with her love and devotion to him but also unknowingly her own desire. Instantly his own passion flared, and in that moment he had wanting nothing more than to lower his head and press his lips to hers.

It was only the sound of Kannen's voice that brought him to his senses, and he and Catherine had to quickly break apart and hide themselves in the shadows.

After the surprise, Vincent had escorted Catherine back to the secret tunnel under her apartment building. As she stood just in front of the filtered light which would lead her once again away from him back into her world above she had looked like an angel. And standing there, she had reached up and placed her hand upon his cheek and then almost in an unconscious mimicry of what he had desired to do to her lips earlier, she gently brushed her thumb across his lower lip. He covered her hand with his own, holding it close to his cheek, savoring it's softness before letting it drop back down, though kept his fingers interlaced with hers. With a smile mixed with love and sadness, her fingers gently slipped away from his and she had turned and disappeared into the light.

Vincent had stood gazing into the filtered funnel of white a long time. A kiss seemed like such a simply thing, but for Vincent…when it came to Catherine, he knew he could not dare let himself succumb to its pleasures, for the very fear of what his beastly hands could do upon her flesh in the heat of his primal passion and the fear he knew it would invoke in her eyes was more than he could ever endure.

And yet…they had loved. Sometime in those lost dark days of his madness when Catherine had cared for him, when he had fought his beastly demons in feverish delusional nightmares and nearly lost himself completely to them, she had loved him. And from that terrible darkness, in memories buried deeply and still hidden from him, Jacob had been conceived.

Lost in his thoughts for a moment he wasn't aware of the footsteps that approached.

"Vincent?" He looked up to see Mouse. "You okay?" the boy said with some concern.

"Yes," he smiled.

Mouse let out a sigh of worried relief.

"Not disturbing you?" he asked.

Vincent shook his head. Muffled voices echoed through the chamber again as the breeze shifted. "No, just listening to memories."

Mouse smiled boyishly. "Strange place this is…voices always chattering…too noisy sometimes."

"Sometimes," Vincent agreed.

"Have something…for Jacob," Mouse said excitedly and handed Vincent a shinny object. "A thing to shake, to chew."

Vincent looked at the polished rattled made of silver carefully molded together, smoothed and polished.

"Made, not taken," Mouse quickly assured.

"Thank you, Mouse, it's beautiful."

"Mary said Jacob needed something to chew."

"Indeed." Of late Jacob had an intense fascination of exploring everything in his world with his mouth.

Mouse then sat down next to him, dangling his feet over the edge of the wooden bridge and looked down at the long drop below. His shoulders were a bit hunched and on his rounded face his expression showed his worry.

"Is there something troubling you, Mouse?"

With eyes imploring, he looked at his friend. "Don't leave again, Vincent. Please."

Vincent cocked his head to the side. "Leave, why would I leave?"

Mouse shrugged and clasped his hands together into a fist before shoving them between his legs in a nervous, worried gesture. His head bowed down low. "Like before…when you were sick…left us…for the dark caves below. Bad place."

Vincent leaned over and placed a hand on top of the boy's hunched shoulder. "No, Mouse. I'm not going to leave. My home is here with the people I love."

"Father's worried, Mary too." He kept his head bowed. "Mouse too."

"I know," Vincent replied sincerely.

The young rounded face looked up. "Can Mouse help? Good at fixing things."

Vincent cocked his head to the side. "You are helping Mouse, just by being here."

"Know what its like be alone," he said in a voice filled with experience and fear as he looked down into the bottomless darkness below. "Not good. Together is better."

"Together is definitely better. You, Father, and everyone else Below are my family."

"Now Jacob too," Mouse said proudly looking back up.

Vincent smiled. "Especially Jacob. But there is something you could fix for me."

"Oh?"

From one of his pockets, Vincent withdrew a white opaque crystal on a finely woven gold chain and handed it to Mouse.

Mouse recognized it immediately. "Catherine's necklace!"

Vincent had given it to her a year after they met, as an anniversary gift, so to speak. He had wanted to give her something from his world she could carry with her always. He had journey deep to a special crystal cavern Narsissa, a mystical old woman, had told him about in his quest to find something special for her. Mouse had then fastened a gold chain for it.

Catherine had somehow lost it in the dark cave Vincent had escaped to when he was battling his madness and fearing his beastly outbursts. Catherine, Father and several others had followed him though, intent on bringing him home, but it had been Catherine who had gone in alone, risking her own life and finally bringing him out of his torment with her love and courage.

After Catherine's death, when Vincent had ventured back to the cave in his grief, he had miraculously found it buried in the dirt and through its crystal clarity he had seen a vision of his lost son and heard Catherine's beseeching voice. It had spurned in Vincent's heart a powerful, unyielding determination to find the child and bring him home. And ever since then, Vincent had carried the necklace with him, like the porcelain rose he wore in the leather pouch around his neck.

The chain was broken and knotted in several places. "Can you fix it?"

Mouse examined it. "No problem. Good as new! Better!" he assured.

Vincent bowed his head in gratitude.

Mouse jumped up. "Okay, good. Okay, fine," he said excitedly. "Get this done right away!" And with that, Mouse scurried away and Vincent watched his retreating back with amusement.

After Mouse left, Vincent once again opened his book and read for a while. It was one of his favorites he and Catherine had taken turns reading to one another on one of his many secretive visits to her balcony. He would always come after dark, not too late because he knew she would have to be up early the next morning to work, but he found it unbearable not being able to see her for long stretches of time.

Sometimes he would tap upon her window and wait, but other times he loved standing in the shadows as she wandered out onto the balcony and stood staring out upon the city lights lost in her own thoughts. She was so beautiful to look at with the wind gently blowing her hair about the contours of her face, whether still dressed in her chic work clothes which often emphasized the beautiful curves of her body, or a pair of slacks and a sweater which hid her charms in their bulk, or the silk robe that flowed to the ground in which her bare toes would peek out from beneath the folds.

Sometimes she looked very tired, sometimes content, other times often sad or lonely until she became aware of his presence. Then her face would transform at the sight of him and his heart surged knowing the radiant joyful look in her eyes was for him alone. He had never grown tired of seeing that unexpected joy at his sudden appearances and once she had told him that she didn't think she would ever _not_ be surprised by his appearance.

Their time on the balcony was magical and it was a place that Catherine treasured as _their_ place where she and he could merge their separate worlds into one, even if only for brief stolen moments in time. Often they'd propped themselves up against the little brick wall out of the wind. Catherine would lean up against his side and he would drape his cloak about her against the chill. For hours they would talk, sharing the experiences of their days in each others worlds or have discussions about favorite music, art, literature, people, places or memories. But often Vincent would come and read to her until she fell into that place between wakefulness and sleep, that dreamy place where possibilities could exist, only stirring when he paused begging him to continue.

She had told him once the sound of his voice was a comfort she carried with her throughout her busy days, a voice that always brought her peace and the feeling of trust as it had done the very first time she'd heard it as she lay afraid in the dark with her face bandaged and in pain after Vincent had found her in the park.

And sometimes she did fall asleep, exhausted from the shear workload and demands of her job yet never wanting to deny the opportunity of stealing a moment in time to be him. When she did he simply sat and let her rest, listening to her soft breathing and leaning over to rest his head on top of her silky hair and savor the sweet lilac fragrance of it as sweet as the bond that had once flowed between them.

And when it was time for him to leave and she was still sleeping, he would carry her inside and lay her down on her bed, covering her with a warm comforter and then he would brush her bangs gently away from her face to get one last look at her before he was forced to depart.

Sometimes she'd stir and awaken and say goodbye, other times she would turn on her side and tuck her hands under her cheek and smile as if caught up in some wonderful dream, a dream he hoped included him.

There had been so many times he had wanted to stay, to let the self imposed barriers he'd carefully and painfully erected around himself, those barriers meant to control the beast within, down and to be the passionate lover he wanted to be with her, but knew he never could. It had been the one truth Vincent had never been completely able to share with her, afraid its intensity would have frighten her, the truth of just how deeply he had loved her from the very beginning….

"Vincent."

His name was spoken clearly and Vincent sat upright, pulled suddenly from his thoughts. But he was alone in the Chamber of Whispers except for the muffled echo of phantom voices that soon disappeared back into their silent mystical realm from which they had come, leaving him once again in the quiet stillness. But as Vincent stood to leave, the briefest scent of lilacs lingered in the air and for an instant he could almost imagine the feel of her body pressed against his once again.

****

Mitch Denton stood over his father's bed watching the old man's labored breathing. "How are you, Pops?"

The old man's eyes fluttered open and he a wobbly grin appeared on his dry lips. "Had better days, Mitch."

He looked at the frail man who was thin as a rail, his face shallow and sunken. "Let me take you out of this rat's nest, Pops. I've got friends who can take care of you."

Sam shook his head. "Those kind of friends I don't need, Mitch. Besides, there's no need. I have friends helping me."

"You mean, Vincent?" Mitch said vehemently, his tone dripping with bitterness.

The old man looked at him wearily, "Please, Mitch, let it go. I don't want to argue with you anymore." Sam took a deep breath, his wheezing pronounced. "I'm dying."

Mitch sat down on the bed next to him, his brows descended into a straight line.

Sam regarded his son sadly. "Maybe if I'd been a better father, you wouldn't have turned out the way you did, Mitch. I'm sorry."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Pops," Mitch insisted. "I just wanted more than scrapping by on nickels and dimes and living in a hole in the ground the rest of my life."

"Was it really that bad, Mitch? Below?" Sam asked guiltily. "You had friends, people who cared about you."

"Friends always let you down, Pops," Mitch said cynically, bitterly. "You can't trust any one, don't you know that by now?"

But Sam shook his head sadly for he knew why Mitch had always been so bitter and angry as a child. "I know how much you wanted to stay above with me Mitch when I first got sick, especially after your mother ran out on us both, but I thought I was making the best decision I could for you at the time."

"I know that, Pops."

Suddenly there was a soft tapping on the door. Mitch jumped up from the bed and reached beneath the leather jacket, withdrawing a gun. He walked over to the door and standing off to the side, he opened it a crack. On the other side, another man stood and nodded to Mitch. Mitch nodded back "I'll be there in a minute." He closed the door and returned to his father's bedside.

Mitch looked down at the old man who, despite everything, had been a decent father. "I gotta go."

"Where, Mitch? Where?"

"Business, Pops. You don't need to know."

Sam turned his head sadly away. Mitch walked back to the door, then stopped. "When you see Vincent again, tell him…"

Sam looked at his son. "Tell him what?"

Mitch shook his head. "Nevermind," he said bitterly. He reached for the door.

"Mitch?"

He stopped and turned and looked at his old man.

"I am ever going to see you again?"

"Heaven and Hell are too far apart, Pops."

"It doesn't have to be like that, Mitch," Sam said quietly. "Not if you don't want it to be. You can still change."

Mitch laughed, cynically. "No. Not for me. Too much water already under the sewers to go back, even if I wanted to." He put his hand on the knob. "Take care, Pops," he said, and added hastily, "I love you," before opening the door and abruptly departed.

Sam watched his son go. "I love you too, Mitch. Always have, always will," he said weakly and closed his eyes as his heart broke completely.

(author's notes: still with my guys? hang in there, know it's a loooong story, but I'm getting there, promise, lol. Feedback/comments aprreciated, thanks!)


	14. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

It was well after eight by the time Joe reached his apartment building and longed for nothing more than a couple of aspirins and to see the back side of his eyelids. His day, if one wanted to call it that, started with a three a.m. wake-up call from Hughs at the hospital. There had been trouble. An attempt had been made on Jonathan Pope's life which had sent one police officer to surgery with a bullet severing a main artery in his leg and other unconscious with a concussion.

When Joe met Detective Hughs some forty five minutes later the hospital was in a full lock down and both the hospital security staff and NYPD were already in the process of a floor by floor search for the assailant who had fled the scene. Meanwhile Pope, though not injured but gravely shaken, was quickly transferred to the ICU and placed under heavier guard. A hour later it was discovered that a window had been pried open in a closed and un-used wing of the hospital on the fifth floor near a back alley fire escape.

An hour after that the commotion had just started to settle down somewhat, but soon started up again when FBI agents Phillips and Rodriquez arrived insisting on immediately removing Pope from the hospital and putting him into the Federal Witness Protection program. But the docs had intervened and told them Pope's condition was still too serious for him to be moved. Words were said, tempers flared, but the docs had won the battle in the end and Pope stayed.

But Joe's day hadn't ended there. When he'd finally made it back to his office, after leaving Hughs camped out in the hospital's security room scanning through taped security footage hoping to get a picture of the assailant, he'd been confronted by none other that Max Avery's lawyers still trying to weasel a loophole in their case in hopes of getting their client's conviction overturned.

Maxwell had come at the two lawyers with a full dosage of spit and fire that would have made any Southern Baptist minister proud, had he been Southern or a Baptist and not an Italian from Brooklyn, of course. There was _no _way Avery was getting a "get out of jail free" card. He and Cathy had invested sweat and blood to get the man behind bars, and the evidence provided by Elliot Birch was still solid despite being tainted by Moreno's dirty fingers.

After meeting with Avery's sharks, Joe had then grabbed a quick meal at a greasy spoon that left him with indigestion and spent the remainder of his day in court on another matter, which ended up only being postponed for another week by the judge.

So…after a grueling day Joe punched the elevator button and waited impatiently just wanting the day to end.

But after a few minutes, and after pushing the button several more times and the elevator still didn't appear, he let out an explicative that made his landlady, who had just happened to be passing by, stop in her tracks her eyes widening in shock and disapproval. Joe muttered under his breath and with heavy briefcase in hand, took the stairs.

Five flights up though, he heard the metallic opening of an exit door above and slowed his step cautiously. The tapping of footsteps ascending echoed in the stairwell and then another door opened further up. Joe shook his head, brushing off his nervousness. But as he turned the corner and started up to the sixth floor, suddenly two men in ski masks, one well dressed, the other wearing a leather jacket appeared at the top of the stairwell and the back hairs on Joe's neck bristled instantly.

"Mr. Maxwell," the one in leather said stepping slowly down one step.

"Who wants to know?" Joe demanded, cocking his head upward, his stance tall and very much annoyed.

"Call me a friend," he replied.

"No thanks. I've already got plenty."

"Funny. You know you should really learn to wise up like your friend Moreno did, if you know what's good for you."

"Moreno's no friend of mine anymore and threatening the District Attorney isn't exactly a wise choice either, gentlemen."

The two men looked at one another, then back at Maxwell. "We're just offering you some advice, some strong advice," the man in leather said before they started to descend again.

Joe gauged the situation quickly and before either could take more than two more steps down, he suddenly flung his briefcase at the man striking him solidly in the knee cap before turning and quickly heading down the stairwell.

He heard an angry grunt of pain and then a shout, "Get him," followed by the scramble of feet.

Joe quickly descended the stairs, but as he did so, the service door below opened and a third masked man appeared, quickly racing up the flight of stairs towards him. As Joe reached the midway point between floors, he quickly gauged his opponent, then without further thought hurled himself off the landing and impacted into the man, sending the startled thug slamming down the stairs and into the concrete wall, leaving him stunned. Joe tried to grab a hold of the handrail attempting to stop his own downward trajectory but stumbled as his feet hit the steps awkwardly and he turned and slid roughly down several steps, scrapping his hands and shins as he went.

With fast approaching steps quickly descending, Joe recovered and he half slid down the handrail, half leapt down the stairs to the next level but the exit door was locked. Joe rounded the turn heading down more steps intending to head for the lobby, when he felt a brutal shove from behind which flung him down the last four steps and slammed him into the concrete wall. He was flipped around and immediately a fist impacted into his stomach, followed by another to his chin. Joe tried to block the blows with his arms, but they were suddenly pinned to his sides.

"Bad choice, Maxwell," the man said and another shooting pain landed over Joe's right eye.

A shot rang out suddenly from below, the deafening noise in the confines of the stairwell reverberating loudly as a second one almost immediately followed. He heard a grunt then shouts, "Let's get out of here!" followed by the quick scrambling of feet and a third shot, which clanged off the metal railing somewhere above him as Joe slid down the side of the concrete wall.

And then, of all people, Diana Bennett was standing over him, gun in hand looking down at him and shaking his shoulder.

"Joe! Joe! Are you all right."

He held his side and cocked his slightly. Through the puffy slit of his fast swelling eye he said with the sourest of humor, "Hey Bennett. Nice of you to join the party." Using the back of the wall for support, he grunted in pain as he tried to stand back up.

Diana quickly slipped an arm around Joe's waist before he slid back down. Several minutes later, after struggling back up the stairs, Joe was in his apartment, laying on his couch trying to catch his breath with a cold washcloth over his eye while Diana put an immediate call into dispatch. Less than ten minutes later, NYPD was as the door, and Detective Ferrell arrived shortly after. Diana quickly gave them the details she had managed to pump out of Joe while they'd been waiting, including a description of the masked men and the fact she'd hit one in the chest. An APB was immediately put out, but Diana suspected they were probably long gone. They then took Joe's statement and promised to beef up patrols immediately in the area.

"Any idea who those thugs were?" Detective Ferrell asked.

"Take a number. I haven't exactly been Mr. Popular of late," Joe replied. "May have been Malloy's or even Avery's men."

"Either way they were being pretty brazen to threaten the District Attorney so openly," Diana said.

Joe didn't need to be told that twice.

The officers left soon after but Ferrell assigned a patrol car to be stationed outside the apartment building the rest of the night and told them he'd report the incident off to Hughs in the morning. Diana shut and locked the door behind them. Returning to Joe who was now sitting straight up and messaging his jaw, she noticed in addition to a nice looking cut on his lip, he had several abrasions on his hands.

"Where's your first aid kit?" she asked.

Joe removed the cold compress and was busy fingering his eye trying to determine just how big it was getting.

"Under the kitchen sink."

Diana found it and retrieved the necessary contents then sat down on top of the rectangular coffee table in front of the couch finding her usual composure was less than intact and for some reason she was livid at Maxwell, though he was clearly the victim here. She applied some antiseptic solution onto a cotton ball and leaned over and dabbed the cut on his lip with a little more force than she intended.

Joe reeled back instantly. "Hey! That hurts!"

"Sorry."

A little more gently she dabbed and although he winced, he allowed her to apply the antiseptic. She then took one of his hands in hers to tackle the abrasions.

"There not that bad really," Joe said.

Diana ignored him. "It's better to treat them so they don't get infected."

Resting his hand on top of hers, she cleaned the scraps noticing almost absently how his fingers were long almost like a pianists, with nails squared and well manicured. On his fourth finger he wore a gold signet ring. After a minute or so though, Diana noticed Joe's grip had tightened ever so slightly and as she looked up into the pair of dark brown eyes they were regarding her intently before dropping quickly away.

Joe withdrew his hand. "Thanks," he said a little awkwardly.

Diana, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed herself, nodded. "Sure, no problem." Then to cover up the awkward silence that seemed to follow, she added. "Your ring. It's a class ring right?"

Joe looked down at his hand. "Yeah, a little memento of my humble beginnings," he said sardonically. He then stood up rather tentatively and holding his palm against his bruised ribs went over to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. "Care for one?"

"Sure, why not."

Joe opened both bottles, then handed her one. He took a swig and then placed the chilled glass bottle on his swollen eye and sighed at the cold smooth numbing sensation against the bruised tissue.

He then tapped his ring finger. "Three of my buddies and me, all from my class, had to scrap and pool our money together to afford these. Back then it was considered an extravagance. Good old Westfield Law School."

She leaned against the kitchen counter. "Is that where you got your law degree?" Diana asked.

Joe nodded. "About all my mom, some scholarships, a few grants and several greasy spoon odd jobs could afford to send me. Not much to work on off the income on a cop's widow's pension." Diana looked at him quizzedly and Joe explained briefly. "My old man was killed when I was ten."

"I'm sorry. That must have been pretty rough."

Joe sat gingerly down in a bar stool next to a small raised counter in the kitchen that acted as a tiny breakfast nook. "It was. But I survived."

"I think you did more than that. Being the District Attorney isn't exactly something to look down on."

"I'm not. I'm proud of what I've accomplished in ten years, though I would have preferred to get the position under better circumstances. And you know what else? Those three other buddies of mine didn't do so bad either."

"You still see them?"

"Occasionally, a note here, a phone call there. You know how it goes. But it doesn't seem to matter how long between phone calls, we always manage to pick up where we left off." Joe looked down at his ring as he took another sip of beer. "Wouldn't exactly call what we had a fraternity, but, we were tight. Guess it was because we all started out with pretty much nothing and worked our way up, some a little more than the rest. Ned Gleason's gone the farthest."

"Gleason? The Assistant Attorney General?"

Maxwell smiled and flashed his ring. "Good old Westfield Law," he winked, then grimaced rather comically from the pain of his swollen eye. "So what brought you by anyway? Not that I'm unappreciative for the assistance," he joked.

"I just came from the hospital. Hughs was able to get some grainy pics of their probable assailant off security cameras. He's having them circulated. But I needed to talk to you about something else too," Diana said seriously.

"From the look on your face, I can't wait," Joe replied.

"You're probably not going to like it, Joe," Diana said.

"So what else is new of late?"

"I'm serious. If I'm correct in what I've been thinking about lately, you've got bigger problems to deal with than Max Avery or Paul Malloy."

The sour look on Joe's face increased as Diana produced the ring and set it on the counter. For hours she'd been thinking of just how to explain the ring's importance without revealing Vincent's world.

"So what's this?"

"A ring very similar to the one worn by Gabriel. Not exactly a fraternity, but tight," Diana repeated back Joe's own words.

Joe set his beer down and picked it up. "Where'd you get this?"

"On the floor in Gabriel's estate," she lied.

"Who's it belong to?"

"Someone close to Gabriel."

"Pope?"

Diana shook her head. From her pocket she produced the sketches and then went through a detailed explanation of the designs found on each ring and their significance to her grim theory. "If I'm correct Joe, this ring is part of a set of four."

His eyes widened in obvious surprise. "Are you trying to tell me there are _three_ more men out their like Gabriel?"

"Well, two actually," Diana said. She held up the ring. "The man this one belonged to is dead. His name was Snow. He was professional assassin used by Gabriel. But I think they were also friends of an odd sort, so to speak."

Joe's brows furrowed. "How do you know this?"

"Gabriel enlightened me," she hedged with a bit of a lie. "When he kidnapped me for our little chat at his estate."

Of course, Diana had to fabricate the exact reason for Gabriel's forceful summons of her to the estate. She couldn't tell Joe the real reason she'd been abducted by a pair of heavy handed thugs in the middle of the night was to deliver a message to Vincent about his son being ill, possibly dying, forcing Vincent to surrender himself to Gabriel. It had been Snow's ring Vincent had given her that had initially tipped Gabriel off to her connection with Vincent in the first place when Diana had tried to learn more about it through an antique dealer. Instead, she had told the investigators that had questioned her after the raid and Gabriel's death, that Gabriel had wanted to know exactly how much the D.A.'s office knew about him.

She hated lying to Joe. This bothered her greatly. He was in essence a really good man, honest and straight with the law. But Diana had learned long ago that life held many grey areas and she didn't see she had much of a choice, not if she wanted to continue to protect Vincent and his world Below. She was just now beginning to understand the dilemmas Catherine Chandler must have had to face on a daily basis, worse though perhaps because she had also been deeply in love.

"Who else knows about this?"

"Just you and me for the moment," Diana replied.

"So where do we go from here?"

"Well until the FBI's cryptologists make any progress trying to decode those files, I think I need to try and find out if my theory is right. When I spoke with Dr. Marks earlier, I was told Gabriel's body had been picked up by a private mortuary service, Simon & Sons. I may get a lead there."

Their discussion was interrupted by the sudden ringing of the phone. Maxwell picked up the receiver. After less than a minute of conversation Joe exclaimed, "What!" and the look on his face told Diana the news wasn't good. Joe slammed the phone down a few minutes later.

"What is it?" Diana asked.

"That was Hughs. Pope just had a massive coronary in ICU. He said the docs worked on him for a solid hour. He didn't make it," Joe informed her, then let out an angry grunt. "Whatever information Pope had locked in his brain about Gabriel and his secrets is history now!"

"I'm really sorry, Joe," Diana said sincerely.

Joe swore, clearly frustrated by the set back, turning his back on her.

"I guess I better get going," Diana finally said seeing there little else she could do or say that could make his day any better. But as Diana headed for the door and opened it, Joe's voice stopped her abruptly. "Hey, Bennett."

She turned and looked at him. "Yeah?"

Joe sighed. "Thanks," he said sincerely. "You know, for the help, back there."

Diana smiled. "Sure, Joe. No problem. Just doing my job."

*****

The portly servant in a charcoal grey suit quietly opened the door leading into a very modern and spacious room covered completely in black Italian marble tiles with long sets of floor to ceiling glass windows which overlooked a breathtaking view of the Swiss Alps.

In front of one of the large glass panels, a man stood gazing out at the white capped peaks, his hands clasped in a relaxed fashion behind his back. He wore a black custom tailored outfit of a distinctly European design and though he was only in his late forties, his long shoulder length hair was completely white.

"Sir, preparations are ready for your departure," the servant informed him.

The man turned revealing Anglo Saxon features and intense blue eyes and nodded. "Very good. Tell Karl to bring the car around. I will be there shortly."

The servant bowed. "Very well, sir." He then turned and departed quietly, shutting the door softly as he left.

Michiel Richter stood for another few seconds gazing out at the serene scene in front of him, before walking around to a large sleek chrome and glass desk which like the rest of the room, was simple, minimalistic and modern in all appearances. With shoulders remaining straight and well posed, he sat down in the black leather chair, then reached over to a small ebony box on the desk, opened it and extracted the item within holding it between his thumb and forefinger.

It was a gold ring, with an inlayed emerald. He examined it with a sense of distaste. "Whatever were you thinking?" he said aloud.

The reports he'd received out of New York were not good especially after learning of Snow's unexpected and still _very much_ unexplained demise weeks earlier. With quiet resignation, it seemed he would have to deal with the mess caused by Gabriel's secret obsessions, personally. He clutched the ring tightly in his fist. If Gabriel weren't already dead Michiel Richter supposed he would have been in the mind to kill him, himself.

*****

Mitch Denton slammed the receiver of the payphone back in place after finishing his call then limped back to his car, where Frankie Roman, a buddy he'd worked with before on the docks, sat waiting in the passenger seat. From the look on Mitch's face, Frankie could see the news hadn't gone over well with their current "employer," to use the term loosely, but decided it best keep his mouth shut for now. A half hour later the two men were heading for Queens to have a little chat with someone Mitch hoped would be able to enlighten him a little bit more on the information he was seeking.

**author's notes: sorry for the delay in updating the story. Real life just seems to always get in the way of a good fanfic, lol. Anyway, thanks for all the great feedback posted and by emails, more chapters to follow soon ;) **


	15. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

On his way back to his chamber later that evening, Vincent ran into Mary. With a smile on her face, she put a finger to her lips and motioned him to follow her. Curious, Vincent was led into Father's chamber and there he found his father asleep in his large wing-backed chair and curled up in his lap was Jacob, also fast asleep. One of Father's arms was protectively wrapped around the baby, while the other still held onto the opened pages of a worn book now resting limply in his lap.

Mary leaned over to Vincent and whispered. "I found them there about an hour ago and just didn't have the heart to wake them."

The scene before him moved Vincent deeply for it was the first time he'd seen Father cradle his son.

He spoke softly to Mary. "My earliest memories as a small boy were crawling up on Father's lap in the evenings and just sitting there and listening to Father's voice as he read. It always made me feel safe. So many nights I fell asleep on his lap just like that."

Mary smiled. "Father used to say how quiet you were as a child. You seldom spoke, but your eyes were always so curious, always wanting to know more."

Vincent nodded. "I used to point at pictures of all sorts of things: animals, places, people, colors, just wanting to know more about them for the always seemed like such magical unreachable things. And Father would explain them, tell me stories about them until they seemed to come to life before me."

"Those must have been special times," Mary said.

Vincent nodded. He then went over to his father and extracted the book from his hand and after glancing at the title, smiled fondly, before setting it on the table. He then carefully lifted his sleeping son out of Father's arms and cradled him on his shoulder.

"I can take the baby if you want tonight so you can rest, Vincent," Mary offered, but Vincent shook his head. He hadn't been with Jacob for most of the day and he missed him. Mary smiled in understanding.

Vincent looked back at Father still sleeping in his chair as Mary threw a patchwork comforter over his lap and knew he couldn't have had a better parent. Smiling at Mary he quietly retreated.

But once back in his chamber, Vincent didn't put Jacob down right away. Instead he held the baby a long time, just enjoying the feel of his little body snuggled up against him. When he eventually laid the sleeping infant back in his bassinet though, a sadness suddenly overcame him at the thought that Catherine had been forever robbed of these joys, of feeling this beautiful child fall asleep in her arms or of the pleasures in being able to raise him. Jacob stirred briefly, his little body squirming in the bassinet until he once again found his fist and settled into a deep sleep. As he tucked the blanket around his son, Vincent sighed sadly.

The sound of Jacob's cries woke Vincent later that night. Immediately he got up out of bed and scooped his tiny son up, cradling him close, shooshing him quietly, but Jacob continued to cry. Through the bond with his son, he could feel something had upset him greatly. Concerned, he brought the baby back to bed with him and, after propping himself up on pillows, laid the child gently on his chest. Jacob immediately wiggled upward and buried his little head in the crook of his father's throat, resting his ear against the steady beat of Vincent's pulse. His tiny hand sought and grabbed a chunk of Vincent's long hair and held it tightly in his fist.

As Vincent held Jacob rubbing his back gently, he once again felt the soft gentle ebb and flow between them and from his son an image of Catherine appeared. She had stood over the bassinet gazing achingly down at the child as he woke from his sleep and Jacob had watched her.

"You're so beautiful," she said quietly, tears glistening in her eyes. She reached down as if longing to touch him, to hold him, just once, but her hand hovered in the air as if something prevented her from doing just that. Then her image faded into the dark and Jacob had started crying.

Vincent held the child closer, deeply troubled. Had his own sadness surrounding the fact that Catherine and her son would never feel the joys of knowing each other rubbed off on the child through their bond? Or could his tiny remarkable son already know this and wept at his loss?

Eventually the child's cries settled into soft whimpers and finally he fell back into a restful sleep. Vincent continued to hold the baby close, and this time his heart ached more for his child than for himself.

Very early the next morning before the rest of the Tunnel World stirred, Vincent was up and dressed and had donned his cloak. He carefully placed Jacob back in his portable bassinet and quietly brought him to Mary's chamber. Jacob continued to sleep soundly on his stomach, two fingers now shoved in his mouth sucking subconsciously on them. He adjusted the blanket over his son and then left a note in the bassinet for Mary, for there was something Vincent needed to do.

Gabbing a lantern, he headed for the winding stone staircase which would lead him far below to places seldom visited but to where he hoped to find some answers.

Along the way though, he became aware of a pair of soft scurrying feet following. Vincent paused and turned around then looked straight into the shadows. "Mouse?"

Mouse slowly emerged looking quite guilty.

"What are you doing?" Vincent asked.

"Was worried about you," he said nervously. "Promised you wouldn't leave…to go back down there," he nodded in the direction of the deeper tunnels.

"Is that what think Mouse?" Vincent asked gently.

The boy nodded anxiously.

"I'm not going away, Mouse. I promise," Vincent assured. "I'm only going to visit someone."

Mouse looked at him curiously. "Who?"

"Narcissa."

Mouse's eyes widened. "Narcissa?"

Vincent nodded. "I will be back by evening." He turned to go.

"Wait!"

Vincent turned back.

"I'll…I'll go too," the adolescent said somewhat hesitantly.

"There's no need, Mouse, I will be fine."

"Want to," he insisted. "You're my friend. Shouldn't go alone. Down there. Please?"

Seeing Mouse's concern and heartened by it, Vincent gave a slight nod. "Very well."

Mouse replied hurriedly. "Okay good. Okay fine." Then somewhat nervously he followed as Vincent made his way down the long winding stone staircase which led them past the Chamber of Winds. They then took another, much narrower, steeper stairway down further until they entered into a series of remote eerie tunnels which took on a cold dampness in places as water wept from rocky pours and trickled down the walls as if forming tracks of eroding tears. And in the yellow glow of the lantern light Vincent held in front of him a fine gloomy mist hung stagnant in the air.

Mouse kept close to Vincent's side for this was a place he typically avoided in his wanderings. It was one that always sent those funny little prickly pokes along the back of his neck.

As they ventured further, in several places Vincent had to duck low as the ceilings in the tunnels suddenly dipped down. The tunnels then began to narrow in several places, and made abrupt winding turns as if forming an eerie maze in which their footsteps and the drip, drip of water creepily echoed. Vincent kept a steady pace though as if he knew the path well and eventually a glowing orange light appeared at the end of a long tunnel.

Inside the chamber a very old black woman stood over a small wooden table and next to her an iron kettle filled with blackish oily water sat. Her head was bent over upon her task but suddenly lifted and in the orange glow from a small nearby fire her eyes, completely covered in a white opaque film, looked blinding ahead, yet her wrinkled mouth widened.

"Vincent!" she said even before he had fully stepped inside the chamber.

Vincent pushed the hood of his cloak off his head exposing the wild tawny hair.

"Hello, Narcissa," he greeted softly.

The old woman turned, the smile still on her lips. "And I see you brought a friend, the timid little tunnel mouse," she said with her strange accent that had a Caribbean Island mystique to.

Mouse hovered behind Vincent's broad shoulders for he always felt strangely uneasy whenever the white eyes, which were nearly blind, yet seemed to have an ability to see with a hidden clarity, settled upon him.

Narcissa was very strange woman and also very old. Some said she was well over a hundred. Mouse thought it was more like two hundred though. The old woman had lived in the tunnels as far back as any Dwellers, even Father could rightly remember and some of the children, not Mouse of course, believed she'd actually been born straight out of solid rock.

"Are you well?" Vincent asked.

"As well as to be expected for a crazy old woman," she chuckled. She cocked her head to the side and inquired most amusingly. "And how is da Father?"

"Father is fine." Vincent replied. "He had hoped you would move closer to the community though. He worries about you being so alone down here."

The old woman just chuckled again. "Does he _really_?"

"Of course."

Which was a true statement. Father did worry about the old black woman's choice to live by herself far below and apart from the rest of the community. But it was also a well known fact Father's very analytical medical ways of thinking made it quite difficult for Father to ever understand Narcissa's mysterious and often oddly spiritualistic ways and this seemed to always amuse the old woman greatly.

Narcissa turned back to her table and finished chopping up some kind of root and added it to the kettle full of oily water next to her. Vincent approached and in the light his reflection wavered in the black liquid.

Narcissa paused. "I see your mind is much troubled, child."

"Yes, plagued by strange dreams I cannot comprehend." He briefly explained them to the old woman.

Narcissa shook her head, "Da mind denies what da heart seeks?"

"My heart seeks Catherine, but she dead, Narcissa," he replied sadly.

"Is she child?"

Vincent's voice was filled with grief and pain but also with bitterness. "Yes, killed by the man who wanted her child."

"Your child too. He shares da same bond to da Father as da Father does for da mother, yes?"

"You have never met my son, how can you know this?" Vincent asked.

Narcissa merely smiled in her very strange way. "I know because I know you, child," she said simply.

"Than tell me what these strange dreams mean, Narcissa? I fear my heart will never let Catherine's spirit rest in her grave until I can make sense of them and I fear my own grief makes my son sad through the bond I share with him."

The old woman tipped her head back and her white eyes seem to look past him, into another place only the old woman seem to have an understanding for. "Da spirit is a mysterious d'ing Vincent, but so too is da heart d'at holds fast to da life and to da love," she said gently. "Your answer lies not in da earth but in da love of da Father." Narcissa's old weathered hand reached up and patted Vincent gently on the cheek. "Listen to your heart, child, and you will find what most you seek in your dreams."

But Vincent shook his head sadly. "What I seek the most Narcissa, can _only_ ever live in my dreams now."

Narcissa shook her head. She moved slowly, almost shuffling, over to a rock ledge where a collection of oddly shaped pottery jars and glass containers were stored. She felt around and selected a small jar, then shuffled back to her little table. With shaky fingers, she removed the lid and poured out a white powdery substance into her hand which when added to the liquid created a layer of iridescent-like whitish smoke that just seemed to hover above the water like a misty blanket and glittered with the illusion of many dark colors depending on which way the flickering lights hit the swirling mist.

"What lies in your dreams child is fear."

"Fear?"

Narcissa nodded. "Fear of loosing da love, of loosing da way. Da heart when pain is greatest will seek refuge in places and memories of d'ose d'ings in da past which brings comfort and protection, Vincent. But da love of da heart is lost right now in dark shadows, _so _confused and needs da strength of love to find da way." She blew on the mist and it disappeared and Vincent's reflection once again showed clearly in the water.

"I do not understand, Narcissa."

She reached over and patted his chest near his heart still smiling in her very strange way. "You will, child, when da love of da heart is ready to understand da way."

Narcissa then turned her attention to Mouse still hovering a bit nervously near the chamber entry. Her white eyes settled on him and her mouth split into a wide grin. "Now go child before da little mouse fears I will eat him."

With that, Mouse's eyes practically bulged, and Narcissa let out a loud amused chuckle. Mouse flushed with embarrassment. "Joking, yes," he finally said with a little nervous grin. Narcissa smiled mischievously back for she liked the little mouse indeed.

The old black woman raised her hand as the two departed. "Tell da Father Narcissa bids him well," she called out teasingly, then once again chuckled in her very strange way and went about her very strange activities with great amusement.

****

The next afternoon, the Gabriel Crime Network Task Force team met in an FBI conference room for a closed meeting. Diana winced as she saw Joe walk in, his eye a nice bruised rainbow of purple, red and black. Hughs also looked like hell, having been up for the better part of the night dealing with the incident at the hospital which had already made the morning news. Reporters were having a field day and had been camped out on the front steps of the hospital since dawn.

Once settled in, the two FBI agents started off by asking Diana what she'd been able to come up with about Gabriel, for her profiling expertise was well known in their local ranks. Bennett had actually worked on a couple of other cases for the FBI in the past and cracked open one a few years back that had resulted in a high profile arrest that had given the Bureau a nice feather in their cap.

From items gathered from the estate and from what she'd been able to piece together through Vincent about the man himself, Diana was beginning to understand the crime lord. Again, with words carefully chosen to protect Vincent and his world, she presented her profile of Gabriel to the task force team.

Gabriel was a man who appreciated uniqueness, she explained, one who revealed in perfection and the desire to possess something for the sheer power and satisfaction which came in the ownership of such things. This side of his personality Diana had speculated came in part from the private collections of rare artwork and antiquities found on the estate after the raid, most of which, if not all, were priceless and one of a kind, and some their investigators were still trying to determine their origins and exact value. But there had also been the books. A priceless collection of first edition books and rare manuscripts had been found in a private study on the estate depicting the histories and writings of famous, powerful, forceful men who'd forged empires, invoked fear and were considered by many to be gods of their times.

Coupled with the fact that most only knew him by his first name, a name as Diana had explained to Joe before had most likely been well chosen by or for him, Gabriel desired to set himself apart from others, building his own empire but always keeping an element of mystery about it that gave him the "god-like" quality he seemed to be drawn to.

"Talk about your ego trips," Agent Phillips finally said.

And it was likely, Diana thought to herself, that Gabriel's need to possess those things which were considered to be perfect and unique may have been exactly what had drawn him to Catherine's child once he figured out Vincent was the father. Unfortunately, he probably hadn't thought the same of Catherine, discarding her as soon as the child had been born.

Next Diana filled the agents in on her theory about the rings which produced a similar response of furrowed brows as it had down with Joe the night before. She couldn't provide much more information about the assassin named Snow other than what she'd be able to reveal to Joe earlier, but the agents promised to run the name through the Bureau and see if there was anything that could be dug up.

In turn, the FBI reported little progress from the cryptologist, but the agents were also looking into Elliot Burch's business a little deeper since the man had been personally targeted by Gabriel. They were particularly interested in the security firm Burch had privately poured a small fortune in trying to figure out who was messing in his affairs. Unfortunately, the executive owner of the firm, a man named Cleon Morrison, had been killed shortly after he had decided to drop Burch's case completely and the rest of his senior staff were being less than co-operative about wanting to share information.

Despite the interest of the meeting, after all was said and done, they still had not gotten any farther with hard core evidence that would link Gabriel definitely into Malloy and Davidson and crack open the rest of his network much to Maxwell's ongoing frustration.

***

Paul Malloy left his executive suite and entered the private elevator pressing the button to go down to the garage level where his limo was waiting.

Halfway down though the elevator stopped and the doors slid open.

Two well dressed men entered.

Paul Malloy spoke gruffly. "What do you think you're doing? This is a private elevator!" He immediately reached over to depress the security button.

His wrist was grabbed by one of the men in a crush that threaten to break every bone. Malloy grunted. "Now see here!"

The man merely looked at the lawyer, "You're presence is requested, Mr. Malloy."

"By who?" he demanded pompously.

"Your employer, your _other_ employer," the man simply stated.

Malloy's eyes widened, his face loosing a couple of shades of color.

The elevator reached the garage level and the doors swung open. A short distance away Malloy's limo was parked. Inside his driver sat, with another man sitting in the passenger seat.

The back door of the limo was opened and Malloy was motioned in.

The lawyer looked nervously up at him, but complied as the second man came around to the other side of the car and climbed in so that Malloy was now sandwiched between them.

"Drive," the man instructed. The limo driver's eye's flashed nervously in the mirror, but at Malloy's nod, complied without a word.

A half hour later the vehicle pulled up alongside a deserted stretch of waterfront. The man stepped out, motioning to Malloy to follow. The lawyer obeyed. The man then indicated with a nod of his head towards the end a small quiet peer where he could see someone standing.

Malloy in an act of bravado snapped the collar up on his very expensive coat against the chill of the day and adjusted his sleeves before slowly walking down the peer. As he drew closer though, he noticed that despite the intense cold, the man with white shoulder length hair wore only a light jacket as he stood with his bare hands resting on the metal railing. Upon his fourth finger flashed a gold ring with an emerald inlayed in its center. The lawyer's eyes grew wide with trepidation.

Michiel Richter simply stood a long time staring out into the small harbor where several boats where anchored to their moors. "Talk to me, Mr. Malloy," he said very quietly.

"We have been doing our best, Mr. Richter, to deal with the…er situation."

"Have you, Mr. Malloy? The news I've received hasn't been good."

"I know, sir. But without Moreno in the District Attorney's office it's been difficult to control. The new District Attorney, Joe Maxwell, is a straight shooter."

Richter turned, and Malloy felt the pierce of his intense blue eyes. "How much does he know?"

"He suspects a couple of holding companies in the Cayman Islands, and he knows both Pope and Beacon were associated with Malloy and Davidson though it's all circumstantial, nothing that could link us solidly to Gabriel."

"And the evidence from the raid?"

Malloy shifted his weight. "It could be damaging. Gabriel's men weren't able to destroy everything before the Feds got a hold of it."

"Very unfortunate, Mr. Malloy. And what about your Mr. Pope?"

"He's been taken care of."

"Well, a least you've done something right," Richter said. He then turned back to watch the water. "Now, Mr. Malloy, I want you to tell me about this woman, this Catherine Chandler."

Malloy looked startled. "Chandler?" the lawyer anxiously hedged. "I don't understand. She's dead, sir. She's no longer a threat to us."

"Is she?"

"Of course, Gabriel took care of her himself," Malloy assured.

"Yes, Gabriel," Michiel Richter said with a great deal of distaste. "His secret obsession with this woman has cost our "company," and _me_ personally, a great deal, Mr. Malloy. Why is that?"

"I...I…don't really know, sir," Malloy hedged. "She was a nobody in Moreno's office, just a low level investigator Maxwell happened to give the book Hanlin stole to. Moreno's men were never able to figure out what she'd done with it though and I'd assumed they had gotten rid of her a long time ago. I didn't even know why Gabriel had bothered to keep her alive as long as he did."

"Well, apparently she meant something to a great many people to have managed to stir up _so_ much trouble for you and to cause the death of my brother. I would very much like to know the reason for this."

Malloy nodded.

"And Mr. Malloy," Michiel Richter said very quietly.

"Yes, sir?"

"The ledger…your young foolish lawyer managed to obtain due to your own incompetence needs to be found. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Because, I would hate to have to permanently sever our… relationship…with the _remaining_ founder of Malloy and Davidson, are we clear?"

Malloy nodded grimly.

The white haired man tipped his head politely to Malloy and then turned and walked away.

Back in his limo, alone with his driver, Malloy reached shakily for his mobile phone and dialed the security firm.

"I told you never to call me on this line!" Edgar Mosely snapped.

"Forget about that! I want to know what you've found out so far?"

"I still have men working on it. You just need to sit tight and stay cool," Mosely said irritably.

"Easy for you to say! You're not the one left holding the bag for Gabriel's stupid affairs! I worked too damn hard to get where I'm at now to risk loosing it all because of Gabriel's obsession over some stupid woman and her brat!" He then told Mosely about Ritcher being in town.

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. "How much does he suspect?"

"He knows Gabriel was responsible for getting his brother Snow killed and he suspects the Chandler woman was somehow involved, both of which are enough to stir up a hell of a lot of trouble for all of us!"

It had been bad enough Patrick Hanlin, the greedy punk of a bastard had tried to pull a fast one, and that Elliot Birch had continued to meddle in affairs he should have been smart enough to stay out of, but now he needed to try and figure out why Gabriel himself, the man of _all_ mysteries, had obsessed over some stupid woman who should have be dead a long time ago and her brat to the point he'd allowed his whole operation to be exposed and with it, Malloy Davidson and HNT's symbiotic partnership with the crime lord and his strange "family". And the fact that Ritcher was in town and now making it his business to meddle in his affairs was deeply troubling to the lawyer.

It had taken Malloy nearly twenty-five years and had cost him the demise of his idealistic partner, Edward Davidson, to build Malloy Davidson and HNT up into the biggest corporate trust firm controlling the entire East Coast and by damn he wasn't about to loose it all now or to be left to hang as the next scapegoat like Max Avery who'd gotten a little too greedy and pissed Moreno off. If Malloy was going down, he was sure going to take a hell of a lot of people with him, by damn!


	16. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Vincent sleepily awoke and found her sitting next to him on his bed. He lay paralyzed watching her, this woman that he loved yet still had trouble remembering all that they had shared together.

Catherine's eyes moved over his face and within them he saw her longing for him and her worry. Then tentatively she reached out and after a brief pause softly caressed his cheek with her fingertips as if unable to stop herself in her need to touch him. "How do you feel today?" she asked gently.

"Tired. But better…now that you're here," he replied.

This made her smile and he saw the shimmer of wetness appear in her beautiful green eyes. She leaned over and slowly brought her head down and rested it against his heart, folding her arms and tucking them against her sides so that the palms of her hands could rest flat on his chest. A moment later, Vincent's own arms came up and encircled her shoulders in an embrace and immediately he felt Catherine melt into him as if she had been waiting to be accepted by his touch.

As he inhaled he caught the brief faint smell of lilacs mixed with her own scent and couldn't help but bring up his hand and absently stroke her hair.

He then felt her shiver. "Are you cold?"

Catherine shook her head. "No," she replied, but her voice sounded strangely thick.

"What is it, Catherine?" he asked with concern.

She fingered the padded ribbing on the quilted vest he wore. "Nothing, Vincent, please don't worry. I'm just glad to see you today that's all. To know that you're safe. I…I missed you," she replied. Her hand moved as she quickly attempted to wipe away a tear that had spilled over, but Vincent noticed.

He held her tighter.

"Father said you went Above last night to see the stars," she finally said.

He pressed his cheek against the top of her head. "Yes, they were beautiful. I remembered how I enjoyed going into the park at night, looking at the stars and the moon."

He felt her smile against him. "That's good."

He rubbed her back absently. "But there are so many things I still can't remember, Catherine, words, memories, no matter how hard I try," he confessed to her.

She pivoted her face so she was looking up at him. "You need to be patient, Vincent, you've been through a great illness and are still recovering."

He sighed deeply, frustrated.

"Vincent,' she said softly but with conviction, "The words will come in time, and I'll be right here with you to help you remember."

"Will you?" he asked with a voice that still was hesitant, a little unsure, for since loosing the precious bond with her and so many memories, he wondered if she could still love him.

She nodded and then her eyes darkened. "I promise, Vincent. I promise. I'll be by your side. I won't leave you." And then she added softly, "I love you and this is the only place I want to be, with you understand?"

Vincent nodded and smiled and held her closer, for he believed her.

Then suddenly from within the dark shadowy recesses of his chamber Vincent heard a voice, a voice he suddenly knew very well, a voice that made Catherine cringe and filled Vincent with savage hatred and the memory before him suddenly shifted into fear, Catherine's fear.

_He's the father, isn't he, Catherine? Why keep trying to deny it to me? Just tell me_. _I'll find him, you know….It's just a matter of time._

Catherine's whole body went rigid and suddenly she pushed herself off Vincent's chest. As her eyes locked with his in them he saw a terrifying fear, a fear _for_ him.

"No! No! What have I done?! Please, God, what have I done?!" she kept repeating to herself. "I'm sorry, Vincent…I'm sorry…"

The voice now encircled her, taunting her.

_It's his seed growing inside you, isn't it? Becoming stronger…soon the child will be mine…and I will show him the truth and the truth shall set him free._

Catherine tried to pull away from Vincent but he held her tight. "No!" She shook her head. "I won't let you take him!"

The voice laughed cruelly back.

_Haven't you realized by now Catherine…I already __own__ him…his mine and you've failed to protect them both because you are __weak__!_

Tears spilled from her eyes. "Nooooo," her gut wrenching cry tore at Vincent's heart and suddenly she yanked herself away from him and fled into the shadows trying to escape the echoing taunts of her nightmares.

"Catherine!" Vincent sprung from his bed, reaching for her, but she was already gone.

No! His mind screamed out as he awoke from his dream. Not this time! It cannot be!

Desperately he called to her as he raced out of his chamber and into the connecting corridor that led down to Father's quarters. And when he reached the study he already knew she was not there, her presence once again painfully ripped from his heart and cloaked in a place locked away from him, and he let out he out a terrifying angry frustrated roar.

A short time later Father hovered just outside the entry of Vincent's chamber with Mary standing close behind him. Startled awake by Vincent's distress, Father had gone to his son's aid but when Vincent had seen the intense worry on his face, he'd turned abruptly about and raced back to his own chamber, his eyes wild and filled with confusion.

Vincent now sat quietly on his bed, holding his head in his hands.

"Another nightmare?" Father asked slowly.

At the sound of Father's voice, Vincent bolted from his bed and crossed to the other side of his chamber, his back to Father and Mary, ashamed by his own weaknesses, his own inability to deal with his grief.

But Vincent was also afraid, afraid he was truly slipping into that terrifying realm of delusional madness for which he knew this time there would be no escape.

His whole body stood taut, still filled with the electrical charge of her memories.

"Talk to me, Vincent. Please." Father implored.

A long silence followed. Finally Vincent spoke. "My dreams are filled with such _powerful_ images of her, Father," he said forlornly. "So much so that I feel my sanity slipping away." Then he inhaled, and as his did so, suddenly his agitated state grew. "But this time…_this_ time she was here, Father, I know it! In this very chamber!"

Father walked further into the chamber, his face strained by his son's distress. "How do you mean?"

"Her scent, Father! Can't you smell it?" He said savagely. "It still lingers. And her touch still burns against my flesh!" Vincent paced aggressively about, until a sudden agonizing pressure tightened around his chest, bowing his shoulders, and Father's face took on a fearful worried look.

"Vincent you need to sit and calm down," Father said sternly.

But Vincent shook his head and said in a voice full of strain and grief. "I fear I'm going mad again, Father."

It was then Mary abruptly stepped forward. "Jacob, for God's sake please tell him!"

Father stood in the center of the room as a deadly silence passed.

"You must!" Mary implored.

Vincent turned to look at his father. "Tell me what?"

With a voice strained and full of thick emotion, Father spoke. "Vincent, you're not going mad."

"I must be!" Vincent turned his back on his father again, his voice grief stricken, lost.

"No, Vincent you're not because," Father's voice shook, "Catherine is alive."

Vincent spun savagely about. "What evil could possibly possess you that would make you speak such lies even in jest!"

"Vincent…"

"NO!" The tawny mane flew back and forth by the vileness of such a lie before the blue eyes settled fiercely on the old man. "I do not know what kind of madness consumes me Father, but I do know Catherine is dead!" He raised his clenched fists in front of him. "I watched her die before me." He spread his clawed fingers out. "I held her in these hands and watched her draw her last breath!"

Father leaned heavily on his cane. "Vincent, what you have been feeling, these dreams, these images are not born of madness but of truth."

"NO!" His shook head in denial "It cannot be…"

"She is alive," he repeated softly.

And as Vincent looked into Father's eyes, he saw the truth and his own widened in astounding shock. "How can this be?" he asked in a strangled voice barely able to pass the words through his lips.

Father's hand shook as he brought it up to his forehead. "It's...It's very difficult to explain." Mary was at his side instantly, offering her support, her encouragement and Father leaned on her gratefully. "You see...when you came back down to the Tunnels early the next morning, and told me you'd found Catherine and brought her back to her apartment, I contacted Dr. Marks to…to take care of her."

Dr. Marks had long been a Helper Above, often assisting in the sometimes necessary task of caring for the dead from their world below. Father had known and trusted his good friend for many years.

"He made the discovery, Vincent. Catherine was still alive."

Vincent's eyes slowly dilated in shock and then further at the agonizing, _horrifying_ realization of what he'd done.

Father read his son's thoughts. "Vincent, you could not have known."

But Vincent's last image of her as he'd left her there in her apartment, on her bed, still and alone as the dawn began to break burned in his mind. "How can you say that? She was still alive and I abandoned her!"

"You mustn't believe that, ever! You could not have known!" Father stepped forward, but Vincent backed away. "Your link to her had been broken, and your grief too great! Dear, God, it was only by some divine intervention, some great miracle that Dr. Marks even made the discovery himself."

Vincent's body was numb, his mind reeling. Catherine was _alive_…

"How?" Vincent wasn't even aware he'd spoken.

Father tried his best to explain in a voice that had difficulty forming the words. "It was later, as Dr. Marks was preparing her body…for storage when he saw a tear slip down her cheek. At first he thought he was just imagining things, but then he found a pulse, in one of her major arteries. It was very faint, very slow, undetectable by mere touch alone but by some miracle it was there. When he realized Catherine was somehow still alive, he did the only thing he could think of…he called Peter."

"Peter?" Vincent's mind was sluggish having difficulty processing the information.

Father nodded. "Dr. Marks is Peter's stepbrother," he explained. "Dr. Marks somehow managed to get Catherine out of the morgue and into the secrets tunnels below the building without being detected. They took Catherine to Peter's apartment. She was in very grave condition at the time."

Vincent could only listen.

Father continued. "When I got Peter's message, I had no idea what was going on at the time. Peter's frantic note only told me to bring whatever medications and supplies I had available and to tell no one, especially you. It…it was a complete shock to find Catherine there. Peter and I worked on her all night trying to stabilize her, while Dr. Marks did the best he could to conceal the fact her body was not in the coroner's office."

Only later would Vincent learn the extent to which Dr. Marks had gone to cover up this secret.

Suddenly Vincent's whole being seemed to come back to life. "Father, I must go to her!"

"Vincent, you cannot," Father said sternly.

"Why?! Where is she?!" His father's eyes dropped downward. In two long strides he was beside his father and gripping his forearms. "You must take me to her!" he said savagely, nearly shaking the old man.

Father paled visibly. "Please, Vincent your strength is hurting me," Father grunted.

Appalled, he quickly withdrew his hands as if burned. Father staggered backward and Mary helped him to a chair. The older man's face was white and considerably shaken, but he waved Mary's concerned hand away and took a slow deep breath and he tried to explain. "I cannot take you to her because she is not here in New York City."

Again Vincent's shock was evident. "Then where?" He demanded.

"You must try and understand, Vincent. We had little choice or time. Catherine's condition was very grave when Dr. Marks discovered her and despite our best efforts it soon became apparent she needed more specialized care than any of us could provide without arousing suspicion. As it was, Peter had to break into his colleague's office, a plastic surgeon that did outpatient surgeries and take some needed equipment. Luckily it was over the weekend and there was no one around." He paused. "At Peter's suggestion, we decided it best to move her to a special facility in Boston, under an assumed name for her protection. Peter had colleagues there he trusted and knew could take care of her and upon my consent, Peter quickly made the arrangements and went with her."

But Vincent's eyes suddenly turned darkly savage. "Why could you not tell me though?! Why would you let me endure such agony when _one_ word from your lips could have spared me a lifetime of hell?"

Father sighed very deeply. "Because her prognosis was very grim, Vincent. We feared she wouldn't even survive the trip. And…" he bowed his head to his chest, "because I could not bear to have to tell you if she died all over again."

"And yet she lived and you still kept this from me, knowing how I grieved for her!" Vincent's anger and sense of betrayal swelled.

"Believe me, Vincent, it was a decision I did not make lightly and has been a heavy burden on my heart since, but I had my reasons."

"No reasons could have been good enough to keep such a secret from me! She was my _life_!" He pounded his closed fist to his chest. "And that you could deny her to me, I cannot forgive!"

He took a menacing step toward Father, but Mary quickly stepped between them. "Vincent!" she interjected, eyes wide with fear.

Vincent halted. He closed his eyes and turned his back on his father, both fists clenched tightly to his sides, every muscle in his back bunched and quivering in rage and emotion.

"It's all right, Mary," Father said very quietly and then to his son whom he loved more than anything else in the world, he spoke with a voice full of remorse and pain born from the burden of guilt he had carried for so very many weeks. "I have never felt the need to deliberately lie to you Vincent, and you have every right to hate me for this deception now and forever, but please know what I did then and in the weeks that have followed was born out of love and fear for both of you."

Vincent clenched his fists even tighter, unaware of the blood he drew as his claws dug into his flesh. "Love???" The single word came out in a strangled choke and Father flinched.

The old man's words were thick with emotion. "I wanted to tell you so many times, but the reports I'd gotten back from Peter were so bleak. Twice more we nearly lost her." Father's head bowed very low. "I know how much you were suffering Vincent, but I knew there was nothing any of us could do for her that wasn't already being done. Dear God, I couldn't even dare the risk of bringing you to her," he said with such deep agonizing sadness. "I felt so utterly helpless, so hopeless." Father's voice choked with despair. "But then when you told me about your son." He paused. "It was just such a shocked. I just couldn't believe it. And suddenly I just didn't know what to believe or do anymore."

Mary's hands settled on his slumped shoulders, offering her comfort. Father took a deep breath, swallowed hard and tried to draw up his reserves as he raised his head to his son's rigid back. "But then after I saw the determination in you to find him I…I realized it was the thread of hope I needed. If we could not save Catherine, perhaps you could at least find her son and bring him home. I had to keep telling myself this is what she would have wanted, for both of you."

Then Father bent his head low again, for in him was also shame. "But I _was _afraid Vincent, afraid the child was truly lost to us all and I was afraid I would soon loose you too in your quest to find him and I admit I wasn't very supportive in your search in the beginning. But I also knew I had to let you try, no matter what."

Vincent continued to stand unyielding. And then Father's voice changed, became more determined. "But then when I looked into my own heart and thought if the child had been you, I would have done no less to try and find you. And so I forced myself to keep this secret a little longer and prayed each day I had not made the wrong decision."

The thick silence between Father and son was a black heavy tangible thing. Finally, Mary intervened and approached Vincent slowly. "She hasn't been alone, Vincent. Father made sure of that. Devin's been with her the whole time."

For a moment it looked as if Vincent had not heard her, then slowly he looked down at the older woman in confusion. "Devin?"

Mary nodded gently, her heart aching for both men. "Yes, he's been staying with her, making sure she is kept safe."

"And you knew Catherine was alive too?" Vincent's voice was raspy, tight, guttural.

Mary touched his arm gently with a hand that shook. "I found out just a few weeks ago after you collapsed when you returned home with Jacob. Father was so distraught that night, so worried about you after all that you had endured already and all you had suffered in that horrible place. The burden became too much for him to bear alone anymore." Mary's eyes filled with tears. "You must understand, Vincent. He was _so_ worried about you, so afraid your heart had been physically damaged, that he swore me to secrecy until he felt you were strong enough to handle to news."

Vincent slowly turned and stood looking at his father in amazement. Father sat broken with shoulders slumped and was leaning heavily against the arm rest of his chair and for the first time in months Vincent now saw the immense strain born upon his face, a face that had aged greatly. He had been so full of his own grief, so full of anger and then determination to find his son, he had been oblivious to his father's own sufferings and all that he'd done, all that he'd endured in silence.

And then he remembered what Narcissa had said_, "Your answer lies not in da earth but in da love of da Father." _Vincent realized then she had not meant him, but his own father.

Slowly Vincent came over and sank to his knees before the man who had always given nothing but love.

"Forgive me Father," Vincent bowed his head in shame.

Father slowly reached out and stroked the mane of course tawny hair. "There is nothing to forgive," he said in a voice that shook. "It is I who needs to beg your forgiveness."

Vincent wrapped his hand around Father's forearm and rested his brow on the old man's arm in both sorrow and forgiveness. A few moments later he heard the deep exhalation in Father's chest and felt the tension slowly release from his muscles. Tears trickled down both their faces as Father leaned down and rested his cheek on the top of his son's head and together they held each other tight once again drawing strength from one another.

"Vincent, I believe what you have been feeling lately, these dreams, these emotions, is the bond you once shared trying to re-establish itself. Somehow, someway, you are connecting with Catherine's very subconscious and it may be what we've all been praying for all these many weeks."

Vincent could now feel the truth in his words. Though the bond was disjointed, fragmented he knew it was there. Oh, Catherine…Vincent's heart wept, ached for her. When he looked up again, the determination had returned in the glittering blue eyes. "I need to see her Father!"

"I know," Father said with very quiet resignation. "But there is something you should understand first." He paused as though the next words were hardest to speak. "Though Catherine's physical condition has stabilized, ever since the accident, she remains in a deep coma. One from which there may be little hope she will ever awaken."

Vincent flinched at the news. And it was then Vincent fully understood his visions and all Narcissa had said. Catherine was lost somewhere in her own dark shadowy world, a world full of fears and she needed him, needed his strength once again to guide her back and give her courage. "Even if there is just a little hope, Father, you know I must try."

"I know." Father nodded and stroked the mane of tawny hair. "But there is a danger."

Vincent's eyes darted up, darkened.

Father spoke grimly. "The reason why Dr. Marks did not call out for help from his own colleagues when he first discovered Catherine was alive and why we have gone to such lengths to keep her condition a secret was out of fear."

"Fear?"

Father nodded. "You see, shortly before he made the discovery, a man showed up looking for her."

"Who?" Vincent demanded.

"Someone of importance, Dr. Marks knew well, someone he thought he trusted, but there was something about the way the man looked at Catherine's body when he thought he was alone with her that made Dr. Marks very uneasy."

"How?"

"Dr. Marks said he looked as if…as if…he were glad to see her dead." Vincent's nostrils flared in anger. Father continued. "If she is discovered alive by those who would still wish her harm..." he let the rest of the sentence fade.

Vincent understood all too well. "Then we must to bring her down here, to the Tunnels Father, as quickly as possible. It's the only way I can protect her."

Father nodded grimly.

(author's notes: Okay...so there!....Now you know what happened to Catherine...The End! Just kidding! Guess I better figure out how I'm going to get her back to New York...and if someone else knows she's alive????.....hmmmm.....Anyway, thanks for hanging with me so far.)


	17. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

"Talk to me Frank," Mitch held the lab assistant up by the base of his throat.

"I…I…swear I already told you everything I know."

A gun flashed before his eyes. "Are you sure? Your little girl's life depends on your answer."

Mitch jerked his head towards the closed door where Frankie was sitting in the next room, waiting. Frank nodded desperately. "I'm telling you the truth, I don't know why the tags where switched, I just know they were."

"Was he working alone or did Maxwell or someone else order him to do it?"

"I don't know. Dr. Marks handled all the case files himself, he insisted on it. Everything went through him first."

"Who did Marks meet with?" Mitch demanded.

"I never got a good look at him. He stayed in the shadows."

"What did he say?"

"I couldn't make out most of it. They were talking low. I only overhead Dr. Marks tell the man he needed more samples."

"Samples? What kind of samples?"

"I don't know but Dr. Marks handed him a scrap of paper the guy said he'd get it to Damon as soon as possible."

"Damon?"

"Something like that. Damon, Deon…no…no…um…Devin I think he said."

"Devin??? Are you sure?" Mitch asked, his eyes narrowing.

"I…I…think so…I can't be sure. It was several weeks ago."

"Did Marks see you?"

"No, I already told you. He wasn't aware I was there. Now for God's sakes please leave us alone! That's all I know, I swear!"

The lab assistant was abruptly released and he sank to his knees. Mitch then squatted down in front of the frightened man and held out his gun in front of him. "Mention us to _anyone_, Frank," his eyes narrowed deadly, "_anyone_ and we'll be back, _understand_?"

Frank nodded silently.

The two men then left the apartment building.

"I don't get it. What has any of this to do with what these guys are looking for?" Frankie asked.

Mitch pocketed his gun edgily. "Call it an intuition," he laughed cynically. "A family affair so to speak."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He demanded.

Mitch shook his head. "Not now," he said absently, as if something was bugging him as he continued to walk at a brisk pace.

Frankie hurried to catch up with him. "I don't know if this is such a good idea, after all."

"What do you mean?" Mitch stopped dead in his tracks.

Frankie hedged nervously. "Look, Mitch, you're already in enough trouble as it is with the bosses. You were lucky they were lenient with you after the dock union fiasco last year."

Suddenly Frankie was violently pushed up against a brick wall as Mitch turned on him. "Lucky?" he snarled. "Is that what you call it? Loosing three of my best men, being humiliated, and then stripped of everything I every worked for, scrapped and clawed my way up to get, only to be told I was off the docks permanently, that I couldn't _handle_ them anymore? You call that _lucky_?"

Frankie saw the crazed look in Mitch's eye. "Take it easy, Mitch. All I'm saying is I still think it's a bad idea coming back into New York right now and messing around in this business, even if the money is good."

"This just isn't about the money," Mitch said with deadly precision.

"Then what?" Frankie looked suspiciously at Mitch. "This still isn't about Chandler, is it? Christ, Mitch, she's dead, boxed up and six feet under. You saw it for yourself. What more do you want?"

Mitch pressed Frankie hard against the wall practically strangling him. "That bitch cost me everything! Everything you hear! Her and…" he dropped the rest of what he was about to say and released Frankie abruptly, turning away.

"Who?" Frankie demanded, trying to catch his breath. "Maxwell? Is that was this is all about, then? Some personal vendetta you got against the D.A.'s office?"

Mitch shook his head, his fists clenched. "Forget it. You wouldn't believe me if I told you anyway. Besides, I can take care of Maxwell, if need be."

Frankie sighed. "It's a bad idea, Mitch. Maxwell may not be able prosecute you on the murder charge ever since their key witness keeled over, but it doesn't mean he's going to give up trying to put you behind bars if he catches you back in New York."

"You can bail out anytime you want to Frankie, I can do this alone if need be, but it was your brother killed that night too."

"I know that, Mitch. You don't have to remind me," Frankie said bitterly. "But the bosses already told you to lay low and leave things alone. If they find out you're messing around making deals behind their backs without orders you're not going to have a leg, arm or head to stand on this time."

"I know what I'm doing. You just do your part. Did you get the stuff?" Mitch asked.

"Yeah, I got. But you still haven't told me why you want it."

"Later. Right now I think it's time we made another house call," Mitch said as he stormed off.

Frankie just stared at him, shaking his head. He'd known Mitch a long time and knew he was still bitter about loosing control of the docks, but Mitch had some hidden agenda of his own, something that was gnawing at him, eating him up alive, and it was this Frankie was most concerned about.

****

A closed counsel meeting was held in Father's chamber the next day during the time when the children were busy with various lessons in other parts of the Tunnel World and most of the other Dwellers were busy with final preparations for Winterfest. Father sat spent behind his desk having gotten little more than a few hours sleep. Vincent stood nearby, his stance expressing a fierce determination, as the blue eyes settled upon those gathered round.

Cullen, Pascal, Mouse and Jamie and five others who made up the rest the Tunnel Counsel sat dumbfounded as Father told them the news about Catherine. After their initial shock, he once again disjointedly explained the events which had happened over the last few months and why he had felt it necessary to keep such a secret from all of them. By the time Father finished explaining, a heavy tangible silence befell the chamber.

"I can't believe it," Pascal finally said in amazement.

"It's really true?" Cullen asked.

Vincent nodded, for the effort to speak at that particular moment was difficult.

Father stared guilty down at his knuckles, his fingers tightly interlaced together as they rested on his desk, not sure how the others or the Counsel now felt towards him by his great deception. Mary stood protectively nearby offering her strength and her support which Father accepted gratefully, her heart reaching out to Jacob for all he'd tried to bravely endure alone those many weeks.

Jamie was the first to approach him. Father looked uncertainly up at the teenager but a second later, she flung her arms about him like a daughter would to a beloved father and hugged him tightly, tears spilling down her cheeks. "You should have told us!"

"I know, I'm sorry," Father chokingly apologized.

And then, he unexpectedly found himself squashed in the middle of an awkward enormous group hug as Mouse suddenly joined her, wrapping his arms around him as well. "Not good to keep secrets…from family…could have helped too," Mouse berated.

"Yes. I realize that now too, Mouse," was Father's muffled reply from beneath the entanglement of arms.

Once Father had regained some semblance of his composure he relayed to the Counsel their intent on bringing Catherine back into New York City and down Below if possible, though there were obstacles needed to be worked out.

First Father would need to contact Peter and get an update on Catherine's condition. But there was also fear that Catherine's life still might be in great danger for the real possibility still existed that within the police department and outside were individuals who would seek to harm her. It was imperative the knowledge of her existence be kept a tight secret for now.

William, a large obese man and one of the senior Counsel members, who was also the Tunnel Community's cook, as usual broached his inlayed fears and concerns for the Tunnel World's personal safety, wondering if such an option was even wise or would it be better to leave Catherine where she was and where they knew she was being cared for. But one look from Vincent and William had quickly dropped the subject.

Pascal agreed about the security issue though and in turned suggested they establish a special coded tap on the pipes for any matter pertaining to Catherine which would keep the knowledge of her existence to a need to know basis.

The rest of the Counsel Members eventually but cautiously agreed and plans were secretly made to bring Catherine home.

****

Father left early the next morning to contact Peter and was gone for the better part of the day. The long wait was sheer agony for Vincent, once again hating the fact he was resigned to hiding Below and waiting for news.

When Father did finally return later that afternoon, he looked very tired and sat wearily down in his chair behind his desk, rubbing his leg. Mary brought them tea and Father told Vincent it would take a couple of days at least for Peter to get back to them and make the necessary arrangements if it was determined her condition was well enough to be moved. Peter, though, still thought it best that Catherine remain in Boston.

Vincent completely understood this and would not dare risk moving her if her condition was unstable, but he also tried to make Father understand that he needed Catherine _physically_ closer to him, feeling his empathic connection with her would be stronger and not so disjointed without the distance of miles between them. When she'd been on the West Coast once, he'd still felt that bond with her, but it was faint. When she was near, in New York City, he always could sense her presence and her emotions quite strongly.

But Vincent was also concerned though, recalling the feelings of being so physically exhausted whenever he had ventured into the shadowy realms Catherine lingered in and wondered if she too was experiencing the same kind of ill effects whenever their connection had been abruptly and painfully severed.

Over the rest of that day and into the next, Vincent repeatedly kept going to the Pipe Chamber, but Pascal had nothing new to report. Father tried his best to distract him with a few games of chess but after easily winning, he knew he'd failed. Vincent tried to quell his anxieties by reading but after reading the same passages repeatedly, he closed the books and tossed them aside. He then took to patrolling the tunnels but found himself repeatedly drawn to the basement entrance beneath Catherine's apartment. He then backtracked to the Chamber of Whispers but nothing seemed to calm his worries as he waited for news.

Finally, despite Father's objections, Cullen dragged him off with Mouse and Jamie to the lower chambers where they spent several hours replacing the rusted out brackets in the old pipe section that had previously collapsed and later Vincent helped Cullen and a few others build the stage for the children for the Winterfest play. Vincent found the physical work a great relief for his pent up energy, but by evening still no news on the pipes or by messenger had come from Peter.

That night, Vincent kept Jacob with him, again feeling the desperate need to keep the child close by.

And now that Vincent understood the source of his dreams he tried to focus deeply on them that night, and when he eventually did drift off into a restless sleep, he found himself once more in that strange shadowy realm but he could not feel her presence as if once again her essence was hidden to him, shielded in a protective cloak he could not penetrate. When he awoke sometime in the middle of the long night, he lay exhausted, worried, his heart heavy with a painful tightness once again constricting his chest.

Reaching into the leather pouch, he pulled the porcelain rose out and ran his fingers along its smooth edges as he lay in bed staring into the dark shadows of his chamber.

"Catherine, come back to me, please come back," he whispered into the darkness before falling sadly back into an exhausted sleep.

****

The summer grass grew tall and smelled sweetly in the little glen, hidden in the woods some distance away from the cabin by the lake in Connecticut. It was a secret place, a magical place, where the deer, if one kept very quiet and very still, would venture out from their hiding places, coming so close one could almost touch them. It was a place of peace where all the cares of the world just drifted away on the warm summer breeze.

And then, to her delight, another presence joined her again, lying next to her in the tall sweet grass and Catherine smiled completely content, not caring how it was possible for her mother to be here like this, only knowing her presence, as it has always done, filled her with warmth and security and love and made the dark shadows filled strange confusing voices calling out to her and the terrifying dreams which taunted and only caused pain to vanish into a distant memory soon to be forgotten.

"I love you, Mom," Catherine said.

"I love you too, Catherine," her mother replied.

Catherine smiled and grabbed her mother's hand and held it tightly in hers as she gazed up at the blue sky watching the clouds drift by. And together they laughed and giggled and played their favorite game as they imagined all sorts of things within their puffy whiteness.

And then in the clouds, the face of a regal lion suddenly appeared with a full mane of tawny hair lit golden by the sun's rays passing through. He looked so beautiful, so gentle, so unlike anything she had ever seen before with his glittering sapphire blue eyes gazing back at her, and Catherine was inexplicably drawn to him.

"What do you see, Catherine?" her mother asked.

Catherine smiled. "I see beauty."

But then the regal lion's his eyes turn very sad making Catherine frown and all she wanted to do was to reach up and touch him and make his pain go away.

"What is it, Catherine?"

"I don't know…"

Then on the warm summer breeze she heard a whispering echo… _Catherine, come back to me, please come back…_ But then the wind shifted and the regal lion blew away and Catherine felt curiously lost and very sad…as if the beautiful lion had taken her heart with him.

*****

Diana spent the better part of her morning tracking down her lead on Simon and Sons, the mortuary company that had picked up Gabriel's body. However, by the end of the day, it looked like an apparent dead end for the company had been forced out of business two years ago after a suspicious fire had swept through the building they'd been leasing.

Investigators had suspected arson from the start, but the case had never been solved. Six months later, the owner of the mortuary service had been struck down in a hit and run accident, and his two sons had since left New York City, their whereabouts unknown.

The only other interesting thing she had gained from her long day was the fact the building Simon and Sons had been forced out of after the fire, had been ticketed for demolition soon after. Along with six other buildings in the four block radius, it had been part of one of the biggest renovation projects in New York City, Burch Towers. However, the project had come to an abrupt halt after several injunctions were placed against it due to Elliot Burch's alleged questionable practices of ousting tenants from their rent controlled homes in the name of progress.

All and all, it had been a big frustrating waste of Diana's day. When she eventually returned to her loft tired and starving she found a note under her door. It was handwritten in very shaky writing from Professor Cummings.

_Thought you might find this rather interesting, my dear…._

She unfolded the paper. It was an old article torn from some kind of antiquities journal written in the early 1960's, talking about a collection of rare goblets "donated" to a museum in Austria by a private collector. Seven pieces were shown in a picture beneath the article. But it wasn't the goblets that had drawn the Professor's interest, it was the hand holding one of them, for on the fourth finger of the hand wrapped around the stem of one of the cups was a gold ring with an inlayed emerald. And beneath the caption of the picture, the Professor had circled the name of the donator of the collection, Gustavo Rafael Heisenberg.


	18. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

By late afternoon of the next day Vincent was ready to throw caution to the wind and go Above and search Peter out.

Father sat as his desk attempting to go through some much needed correspondences but finally set the papers aside and eyed his son who was pacing about like a caged tiger.

"Vincent, there is nothing you can do right now but be patient and wait," he said sternly.

He looked at his father. "We should have heard news by now!"

Father sighed and took off his glasses, holding them in his hands. Though he too was getting a little concerned, he tried not to show it. Instead, he said softly. "I know how anxious you are, Vincent, but these things take time. You must trust that Peter knows what he's doing and will get back to us as soon as it is safely possible."

Vincent let out a dissatisfied grunt, clearly beyond wanting to be pacified. Abruptly he turned and grabbed his cloak which was flung over a chair.

"Vincent! Where are you going?"

"Above."

"Don't be foolish!" Father said sternly. "It's not even fully dark out yet. There will be too many people in the park to take the risk."

He paused, his back to his father. "But I just can not just sit here and do nothing, Father."

"You can and you must, Vincent," was his father's reply which only left Vincent in an even fouler mood.

Stubbornly he stormed off but halfway down the passage that would lead the connective passageway which would take him Above, he stopped and let out a deep breath before turning about and reluctantly going back to his own chamber. He knew Father was right, but it didn't lessen his anxieties any.

In his chamber he paced about for a while, before finally laying down on his bed and turning on his side. Crossing his arms against his chest he tried to focus on Catherine, but try as he might, Vincent could not feel her presence, even in the slightest which worried him greatly.

A tray of food was brought to him a little later, but like the ones previously, Vincent left it untouched.

Finally, as evening settled in, Pascal received a pipe message from Devin. Vincent was to meet him in the North East section of tunnels off 57th street. Grabbing his cloak, Vincent practically flew out of his chamber racing down tunnel after tunnel and traversing one ladder after the next leading from one level to another through the twisted maze of his world.

When he finally reached his destination he practically skidded to a halt. At the end of the tunnel in the beam of a flashlight the man Vincent had always considered a brother stood.

"Devin," Vincent said breathlessly.

Devin Wells smiled broadly beneath a well trimmed beard. A second later the two were embracing, slapping each other on the backs and gripping each other tightly.

"It's good to see you, Vincent," Devin said wholeheartedly.

"And I you," Vincent replied nearly crushing Devin in an enormously powerful hug which winded him and threatened to crack a few ribs in the process.

When the two finally separated, Devin saw the anxiety written all over Vincent's face. Later they would have time to talk, to catch up on things, but for now, Devin knew what Vincent needed the most. "There's a service elevator in the basement of Peter's apartment, but we need to go through a couple alleys to get there." Unfortunately there was no direct tunnel access below Peter's apartment.

"Let's go quickly then," Vincent urged.

Devin nodded and ascended the ladder which led them through a trap door and into the main sewer line. The trap door was an ingenious but simple device, one of several kinds used in their world which allowed them pass Above undetected and prevented flooding into the dry tunnels below. This particular trap door opened inward into the auxiliary storm drain. When the line was dry, it could easily be pushed open after releasing a small locking mechanism. However, when the line became too full with water, the force of the surge pressed against the door effectively sealing it shut.

Once inside the main line, a short distance ahead, a manhole would lead them up to a quiet back street Above. Vincent brought the hood of his cloak up over his head to conceal his face as he followed Devin topside. Once clear, Vincent quickly replaced the heavy iron disc. Luckily for them both the night was bitterly cold and an icy drizzle of rain earlier had pretty well left the streets deserted as most sought the refuge of other warmer places than outside. The two figures stealthily moved through the darkness.

A few minutes later Devin escorted Vincent down into a short stairwell at the back of Peter's building and through an unlocked service door, and then led him down a few more flights of stairs, passed the boiler room to a freight elevator in the back. Twenty-five flights later, the door slid open and Devin went ahead down a short corridor before motioning Vincent to follow.

Keeping his head down and his cloak well wrapped around his body, Vincent quickly crossed the distance and seconds later, after a coded tap on the door, Peter opened it and the two darted inside.

Vincent found himself in an opulently decorated spacious apartment with vaulted ceilings, decorated in varying degrees of crisp white which took Vincent a few seconds to adjust to the brightness compared to the earthy muted tones of his world Below.

Instinctively Vincent moved closer to the set of wide French doors he could see led out onto a large terrace. Besides Catherine's apartment, which he seldom entered unless he needed to, Vincent rarely stepped foot into the living spaces of Top Dwellers for he held an instinctive fear of being trapped without an avenue of escape.

Peter, as if sensing his unease, spoke quietly, "You're safe here, Vincent. I'm alone."

Vincent nodded. "Where is she?" he asked his voice raspy, thick with emotion.

"Just down the hall," Peter said motioning to a closed door which had a soft filter of light peaking out just beneath.

Vincent looked at Devin and he nodded, placing a hand gently on his back. "Go on, Vincent. Go to her."

Slowly Vincent traversed the short distance, paused at the closed door, then turned the knob and pushed it inward.

Before him, on a full size bed the small outline of her figure lay beneath a crisp white comforter. And as he slowly entered the room her face came into view in the soft ambient lighting from two scone lights on either side of the bed. Vincent's legs felt suddenly numb as he walked around to the side of the bed and shakily sank down on one knee, his eyes transfixed upon her sleeping face.

"Catherine…." Her name came out no more than a strangled whisper.

His throat worked and suddenly it became difficult to swallow, to even breath as he took in the features of her beautiful face, thinner, yet still the same as he lovingly remembered, the same forever imbedded in his heart.

Reaching out, his fingertips touched her forehead, the talons of his claws moving gently to caress the fine arch of her brow, before they slowly, shakily slid into the silky hair, which he immediately noticed was much longer and spilled out upon the pillow. His thumb caressed her soft skin and beneath his hand he could feel her warmth. Eyes lovingly scanned each portion, each ounce of her beautiful features over her cheekbones and across the fullness of her lips and then back up again to the soft fan of lashes resting on her pale face. Though every part of his being willed her eyes to open so he could once again look into those beautiful green depths, they remained closed.

Her arms rested on top of the comforter at her sides. Gently, Vincent scooped up one of her hands and held it in his own. It felt so small, so delicate as if it would break at the slightest pressure. He brought it up to his cheek, nuzzling the back of it, his eyes still transfixed upon her face.

Suddenly his vision began to blur and he tightened the muscles in his jaw as he tried to stem the tremble on his lips. Please, please, don't let this be another dream, he prayed, for he didn't think his heart or his sanity could take it if she vanished again. And then as he felt the gentle rise and fall of her chest with each soft living breath, the tears that were blinding him now spilled over unrestrained.

"Catherine…oh Catherine."

The tawny head bowed low and sank against her breast as he clutched her hand against his heart. He stayed like this for a long time, unable to move, unable to release his hold upon her, unable to do anything but be completely overwhelmed in his emotions.

Gradually though he became aware of Peter quietly appearing and hovering in the doorway with Devin standing nearby. His head rose slowly, though his eyes remained fixed on Catherine.

"I owe my life, Peter," Vincent finally said in a deep gravely tone, making no effort to wipe away the tracks of tears which had run down along the side of his nose and over his mouth.

The old doctor stepped softly into the room. "I was happy to do what I could, Vincent, for you and Cathy."

Vincent continued to softly stroke her brow as Peter broached hesitantly, "Father has explained to you about her condition?"

Vincent nodded slowly, solemnly. "She sleeps deeply, in a shadowy realm I cannot awaken her from, but she is calling to me, Peter, I feel it."

"Through your bond?"

Vincent nodded again.

Peter was amazed. He had known Catherine all his life. As a close friend of Charles Chandler, and the family's Obstetrician, Peter Alcott had helped bring Catherine into this world and had watched her grow up through various family celebrations to which he'd been included. Vincent he had known almost equally as long. And the miracle that these two special people could have met and fallen in love and that such a remarkable bond had been established between them still left Peter in awe.

"Before I took her out of the hospital, Vincent, I had them run some special tests on her," Peter said.

Vincent looked up, immediately concerned.

"Its okay, Vincent," he assured. "She's stable. The tests were on her brain activity. We've been doing them periodically since she's been at the research facility, comparing them. When Father told me about the visions you've been experiencing lately and suspecting you may be empathically connecting with her subconscious somehow, I had my colleague, Dr. Bernstein, repeat the test. They showed a change, an improvement but I must caution you there is still no guarantee she will awaken."

Vincent gentle squeezed Catherine's hand still pressed against his heart. "Then I must do what I can to help her find her way home."

"I don't want to give you false hope," Peter said solemnly feeling it important to be as honest as he could about her condition.

Vincent looked back at Catherine, stroking her forehead with the pad of his thumb once again. "Hope is all the two of us have left. She is my life, Peter, I will not abandon her again," he vowed.

Peter nodded in quiet understanding.

A short while later Catherine was carefully wrapped in warm blankets in preparation for the last leg of her journey to the tunnels below. Peter would accompany them, for he needed to speak with Father about the specific care she would require and quickly retrieved his medical bag and donned his coat.

With Catherine safely in his arms they headed for the front door, but Vincent suddenly stopped and instinctively back away, his eyes at once cunningly sharp, his posture tense.

Peter and Devin paused to look at him. "What's wrong?" Devin asked.

"The way is not safe."

A moment later, the doorbell rang, followed by several knocks on the door. Peter nearly jumped out of his skin.

Vincent retreated back towards the terrace.

"Who could that be?" Devin whispered.

"I have no idea," Peter insisted. "I'm not expecting anyone else."

The doorbell rang again. "Dr. Alcott?"

"What should I do?" Peter asked anxiously.

The knocks came again. "Dr. Alcott? This is the police. We know you're in there. Are you all right? Please open up."

"You better answer it," Devin finally said.

Peter nodded nervously. Vincent and Devin quickly retreated back into the bedroom. "Wait here," Peter instructed. "I'll get rid of them as quickly as possibly." Vincent held Catherine tightly in his arms, pressing his cheek protectively against her pale face as Devin nodded. Peter then closed the door and raked his fingers nervously through his grey hair.

"Dr. Alcott?"

Taking his overcoat off and setting his medical bag aside, Peter approached the door cautiously. "Yes?"

"NYPD. Please open up, sir."

Peter cracked the door open. He saw two men in plainclothes uniforms.

"Dr. Peter Alcott?"

Peter nodded.

"I'm Detective Harris and this here is Detective Ruggette." The detective held up his badge then before Peter could protest, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. "Mind if we come in a minute?"

"Actually I do!" Peter said quite sternly.

"Oh? Are we interrupting something?" The detective asked.

"No."

They looked at him suspiciously. "Are you alone?" Harris asked.

Peter nodded. "Yes. Is there a problem?"

"We thought we heard voices." Detective Rugette replied.

"It must have been the radio. I was listening to it a few minutes ago."

The detectives noticed Peter's overcoat slug over the couch.

"Going somewhere?" Detective Harris questioned.

"Actually, no. I just came home a short time ago."

"Oh? Where from?" asked Harris fingering the coat which was dry.

Peter watched his actions nervously. "I hardly think it's any of your business, gentlemen. What is it I can exactly do for you?" he spoke in an authoritative tone.

"Do you know Dr. Eugene Marks?" Detective Rugette inquired.

Peter nodded slowly. "Yes, he's my step-brother."

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"Not for quite some time I'm afraid, several weeks perhaps."

"Has he tried to contact you in any way?" the other detective questioned.

Peter's brow furrowed. "No, what's going on? Is there something wrong with Eugene?"

Detective Harris regarded the doctor analytically. "That's what we're trying to find out. He's car was found abandoned under a bridge in Queens last night after a colleague reported that Dr. Marks' office had been broken into. There was some blood found on the front seat of his car."

Peter was visibly startled by the news.

The detective looked down the end of the hallway to the closed door in which a soft light came from underneath.

"Are you sure Dr. Marks hasn't tried to contact you?"

"Quite sure," Peter replied honestly.

"Then you wouldn't mind if we looked around, just to be sure, would you?" Without waiting for an answer, Detective Harris headed down the short hallway.

"Actually, I do!" Peter objected.

Detective Rugette stepped in front of him. "Oh? Is there a problem?"

"No," Peter insisted, but Detective Harris had already reached the door and flung it open.

Peter rushed inside. "Now see here! You have no right!" But as he stepped into the room he saw that it was empty except for the rumpled sheets upon the bed.

Detective Harris quickly checked out the adjoining bathroom, just as Peter saw a shadow pass by the sheer panels affixed to the small set of French doors that also led out onto the terrace. Harris then turned his attention to the doors.

Peter tried to block his way, "Now, really. I must protest. You just can't come barging in here…"

But Harris side-stepped him and flung the door open and stepped outside. Like the bedroom though, he found the terrace to be empty. Walking over to the balcony wall, he looked down to the long drop below then peered up with a bit of annoyance as a light drizzle of cold rain hit his face. He flipped the collar of his jacket up around his neck against the cold air before glancing over at a fire escape located several feet away. He paused in contemplation for several long seconds staring intently up into the shadows, before seeming to dismiss the idea. From inside, Harris could see his partner still standing in the living room and finally gave Rugette a negative shake of his head at the silent inquiry.

The detective then returned to the living room with Peter on his tail, quite livid.

"I think I've answered your questions and your curiosity _quite _sufficiently gentleman and I would ask you to leave now, immediately, before I contact your superiors!"

Harris seemed unperturbed. "We're only trying to help, Dr. Alcott." The two men slowly headed for the front door. Harris paused then looked intently at the doctor, one eyebrow arched. "If you are contacted by Dr. Marks, you will let us know won't you?" he said in a tone that made Peter feel uneasy.

"Of course," Peter replied.

After giving Peter one last long look, the detectives departed and Peter closed and locked the door immediately behind them, before sagging against the wall, his face pale and shaken.

From outside on the fire-escape a flight above and concealed in a shadowy alcove and within the folds of his dark cloak, Vincent intently watched as the detective stepped out onto the terrace, instinctively drawing Catherine more protectively against him. From just above and around a small corner, Devin was plastered on a small ledge and would have been noticed if the light had been better and the man had leaned over the side of the terrace and looked up in his direction. Thankfully he did neither. The detective did look at the fire-escape though, but seemed to dismiss the impossibility of the idea, for it was a good distance away from the terrace. A few moments later he disappeared back inside and the patio door was closed.

Devin looked over into the shadows where he knew Vincent was concealed and exhaled deeply.

A few seconds later Vincent made his way quickly up towards the roof with his precious package now slung over his back. Devin traversed the distance along the narrow ledge and without hesitation, sure-footedly leapt the remaining distance and easily grasped the iron railing of the fire-escape and followed Vincent up, musing to himself that his childhood of living in the Tunnel World below with it's massive caverns often used as playgrounds of Tom Sawyer adventures and his avid passion for rock-climbing because of it, now came in handy.

Still he was glad when he reached the top of the roof but immediately became concerned when he didn't spot Vincent right away. However, a few seconds later he emerged out of the shadowy darkness like some ghost of Marley's.

Without a word, Devin quickly moved over to the rooftop access door but found it to be locked. Extracting a slim case from a back pocket of his jeans, Devin took a couple of thin metal devices out and set to work on the lock while Vincent crouched down on one knee, cradling Catherine gently as he watched curiously.

"Old habits die hard," Devin winked boyishly instantly reminding Vincent of another time Devin had used this particular talent, learned from the magician Sebastian, to allow a very unusual boy who had never seen the moon nor ridden on a carousel horse a chance to have a dream fulfilled. A few second later, the door was unlocked.

With Devin in the lead, they entered the stairwell and descended as quickly and as quietly as possible. A door opening somewhere below brought them to a quick stop. Devin motioned Vincent to wait as he slowly advanced but a few minutes later, he gave the all clear. They quickened their pace until they had at last reached the service door that branched off from the main stairwell and descended back into the basement. But once they reached the back door that would lead them outside, they discovered the light drizzle of early was now turning into steady icy rain.

Vincent paused in the doorway his warm labored breaths forming clouds of mist in the cold and readjusted Catherine in his arms, once again enveloping her within the folds of the massive cloak, not only conceal, but also to protect her from the elements.

Devin, also panting from the race down the stairs, looked out at the rain. "We may have a problem."

Vincent nodded grimly, knowing full well what Devin meant. The probability was likely that the storm drain access they had used earlier was now filling with water quickly and sealing up the connective trap door that led to the dry tunnels beneath and they would be forced to use an alternative entry in an abandoned warehouse which was at least fifteen blocks away.

As quickly as possible, Devin and Vincent made their way back the same way from which they had come but were forced to suddenly duck down behind several crates in the alley when a patrol car drove slowly past. They waited until they saw its tail lights disappear around the corner before Devin ventured out from behind the crates, leaving Vincent to wait beneath a dry overhang. Devin moved the manhole cover and checked out the line. A few minutes later, he motioned Vincent with a thumbs-up.

Dropping down, Devin reached up and grabbed Catherine's unconscious form as Vincent gently lowered her down, then quickly followed, sliding the heavy cover easily back in place. They stood in only a few inches of water but moved quickly not wanting to be caught in a sudden surge. Vincent, with his keen eyesight in the dark, quickly found the trap door and seconds later they were once again, and to Vincent's great relief, below.

Vincent took Catherine from Devin and laid her momentarily down on the dry tunnel floor, anxiously propping her still form against his knee and chest and unwrapped the blanket from about her head to make sure she was all right. He felt her skin, it was still warm. Her pulse against the base of her throat was strong and steady. Her breath gentle and even. Vincent sighed in relief, worried that all the jarring and rough handling of their hastened escape may have injured her.

"Do you want me to carry her for a while," Devin asked, for they still had a distance to go.

Vincent shook his head adamantly. In his strong powerful arms she weighed almost nothing and he could quite literally carry her for hours without tiring. But also, now that he had her close to him once again, he wasn't about to release her.

A half hour later they finally returned to the main sanctuary of the community. Father was waiting for them in the guest chamber with Mary and Cullen, the same one Catherine had used before when she'd come down below needing Vincent's comfort after her father had past away. Father's brow knit in a worried line as he saw the expressions on their faces.

Once Catherine was settled, Father examined her and re-assured Vincent hovering anxiously nearby that her condition remained stable. Devin then quickly explained what had happened causing Father's mouth to turn grimly down.

"I'll go check with Pascal to see if there are any pipe messages from Peter," Cullen said and quickly departed.

Before Father took his leave as well, he paused and stood a little hesitantly before Devin, leaning on his cane.

"It is good to see you again, Devin…son," he said sincerely but as always there was a bit a reservation in the stern tones.

"You too," Devin replied honestly, and then somewhat awkwardly the two embraced.

The rift that had existed for so long between Father and his only biological son was slowly healing, but it seemed there would forever be an invisible boundary neither would be able to cross. Perhaps this would always be partly due to the fact Devin's mother had died in childbirth and Father had been unable to save her and partly due to the fact that both were very stubborn and set in their ways. Nevertheless, at least now, Devin felt he had a home to come back to whenever he wished, even if just for a visit.

"You'll be staying, for a while I hope?" Father asked.

Devin nodded. "For a little while at least, but I promised Charles I would visit him soon." Devin then quickly explained his friend was currently staying with a doctor specializing in Charles rare deforming medical condition known more commonly as "Elephantitis", treating him for some of the more painful aspects of his condition. Though Devin had been reluctant to leave Charles, his friend assured him this is where he wanted to be. Devin had promised to look in on him though as often as possible.

"Of course," Father nodded in understanding, proud of Devin for showing such great compassion and concern for someone who had been so rejected by society.

But now, as Devin watched Father's departing back, his brow knit in concern. "The old man, how is he?" he finally asked.

"Better I think, now that his burden has been lifted," Vincent replied.

"Geez, he's aged," Devin said. Despite the rift between them, it bothered Devin greatly to see the old man looking so vulnerable. To him, for as long as he could remember, Father had always been a solid unyielding rock.

"It's been very difficult for him," Vincent said. "He's endured much."

Devin nodded, then looked at Vincent "You too," Devin replied. "I'm sorry I wasn't here for you."

But Vincent shook his head and placed his hand on Devin's shoulder. "You were there for Catherine, and that is more important to me," he said adamantly. "I can never thank you enough for all that you've done."

Devin nodded, and then grinned in a way that was totally Devin. "Hey, it's what brothers are for, isn't it?"

"Indeed," Vincent agreed wholeheartedly.

Devin smiled and then took his leave, heading for another guest chamber for some much needed rest. Mary walked over and patted Vincent on the shoulder in a comforting gesture as she too quietly retreated.

Now alone with Catherine, Vincent went over and sat on the bed next to her, re-adjusting the patchwork quilt about her, then taking her hand in his. He then leaned over and smoothed her hair out, gently tucking the strands behind one ear, and as he did so, he felt the edge of the scar which ran along the side of her check, the remnants of her brutal attack more the two years ago.

He then bent his head low and whispered in her ear, "Rest now, Catherine, rest….I'll be near, you're safe here, with the people who love you."

He then dimmed the lantern down to a soft glow, and quietly withdrew to a nearby chair. Even though his chamber was only a short distance away, he couldn't bear to leave her, not tonight and kept a silent vigil, watching the gentle rise and fall of each breath as she slept, thanking the heavens for this miracle, for the return of this woman who had owned his heart from the moment she had first placed her hand upon his chest and leaned her injured and stitched cheek against him in the passageway beneath her apartment.

*****

From the edges of her mind wrapped in a cocoon of warmth she sensed him. The regal lion, he was back, somewhere out there, close by, as if waiting. Curiously she opened her eyes and looked out to the edge of the glen wanting only to see that beautiful face again, wondering if it had been real, but there was only the dark shadows, the shadows where the fear lived, calling out to her, always pressing towards her, only wanting to taunt. Fearfully she turned away, once again burying her face into the protective embrace of her mother's love and soon the warm comforting numbness returned, easing her troubled heart and making her forget that which she feared the most…her own shame.


	19. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

The next morning, after Mary had seen to Catherine's personal needs, Father evaluated Catherine's physical needs while Vincent stood close by. Though Catherine had lost some weight, and some degree of muscle mass, he was pleased to see she had not suffered greatly from the effects of her prolonging bed rest. This was primarily due to the physical therapy regimen designed by the research facility specializing in the care of long term coma patients. Devin explained the routine Angie, the devoted physical therapist he'd become friends with, performed on all her patients each day and to which he assisted with and meticulously showed Father and Vincent just what to do.

He also informed then, much to Father's great relief, that Catherine did not require tube or intravenous feedings to maintain her nutrition. Her condition had progressed over the last few weeks to a point she could be feed orally, if propped up and fed slowly. This was due to the fact that the part of her brain which dealt with oral and some of her instinctive motor reflexes appeared to be wakening. If stimulated, they would respond much the same way an infant instinctively responded with an open seeking mouth when it's lips were tapped with of a finger or a bottle, which in turned stimulated a natural swallow reflex. In was her higher brain functions and her subconscious, which remained locked in a deep sleep.

William sent broth over later, and as Vincent spoon fed her, it took him back to the time he'd done a similar routine after she'd been attacked and left for dead in the park and he remembered how frightened and confused she had been and his only thoughts were to take away those fears again and bring her comfort. After he finished, he repositioned her and then gently swept the long bangs away from her face.

Like the night before, he leaned over and spoke in a deep husky whisper. "Don't be afraid, Catherine. Please don't be afraid. I'm here, with you, always…just trust in my voice, trust in our love…."

****

That beautiful voice with its soft textual lisp was there again, floating at the very edges of her mind, bringing a familiar comfort, a comfort she had strangely known before in another time, in another place, a place with metallic tapping sounds and whines of something passing over head. A voice that had once quelled her fears of the dark and made her want to trust in herself again and her consciousness stirred ever so slightly.

"What is it darling?"

"I don't know," she said confused, "I feel so strange…"

For some reason the beautiful voice brought images of dancing lights and the glimmer of sapphire blue eyes and the feeling of arms which were strong and powerful yet gentle as they embraced…but her mind was tired, so very weary and once again she allowed herself to surrender to the warm numbing folds of her mother's love.

****

Peter glanced into his rear view mirror as he pulled into the Ramos Family auto shop. Detectives Harris and Ruggette parked across the street and waited, but after twenty minutes when the old man hadn't reappeared, the two men got out and crossed the street.

Inside the garage they spotted Alcott's car. A short slim mechanic in coveralls was busy under the hood.

"Hey you!" Detective Harris called out.

The mechanic turned and the detectives were a little surprised to see he was just a kid, perhaps around fourteen.

Tony Ramos smiled and wiped his greasy hands off on a rag he'd whipped out from a back pocket. "Can I help you gentlemen?"

"Where's the old man that belongs to this car?"

"This car?"

'Yeah, this car," the detective said somewhat sarcastically.

Tony rubbed an apparent itch on his nose with the back of his hand and shrugged. "Said he was going to grab some lunch while he was waiting for a lube and an oil change. There's a diner about four blocks east of here that serves a pretty mean Philly, I think he said."

"Thanks, kid."

"Sure, no problem."

The two detectives left and then Tony looked up and winked at his grandfather who stood looking through a small window in a service door. His grandfather nodded and smiled back. Tony grinned as he went back to work.

****

Vincent joined Father a little later in his chamber, and found Devin, now freshly groomed and minus the beard also present. A short while later, Mary appeared, carrying Jacob in her arms. As the baby caught sight of Vincent, he immediately started to squirm and Vincent crossed the room and took his son. Jacob immediately smiled and his tiny hand reached out and grabbed chunk of Vincent's hair.

"This is my son, Jacob," Vincent introduced him to Devin.

Devin's eyes widened in amazement. Cathy's child. He couldn't believe it. He looked up at Vincent. "He's beautiful. He looks just like her," he said, which made Vincent smile. "You never cease to amaze me."

Devin leaned over to touch the baby, but Jacob shyly dived into the mass of tawny hair not sure if this stranger was going to take him away from his father. Vincent smiled down at his son as reassured him with a hug.

Devin grinned, then a thought seemed to cross his mind and leaned over and whispered devilishly, "Does this mean I can call the old man, Gramps?"

This made Vincent chuckle, making Father look up from the quiet conversation he'd been having with Mary to inquire silently as to what was so amusing.

A few minutes later, Jamie arrived. She had a message from Pascal. Peter was waiting at the entrance near the Ramos Family auto shop. Father expression immediately changed and he sent Jamie to escort him down right away. Some twenty minutes later, Peter arrived and Father crossed the chamber and shook Peter's hand firmly, much relieved to see his good friend safe.

Mary brought them all tea then took Jacob from Vincent for the baby was due for his nap. Jacob protested at being pulled from his father's embrace, but yawned tiredly none the less.

Peter sat down in a nearby chair. He looked tired and a little shaky. After a few sips of tea, he filled Father and the rest in on the previous night's visitation though Peter now wasn't even certain if the detectives had been legitimate or not. However, despite that, news about Eugene's disappearance had left him quite distressed and worried about his stepbrother.

Early that morning Peter had called the Coroner's office only to be told by one of his assistances, that Dr. Marks still had not come in, nor had he called, something which was very unusual for his stepbrother, who was always quite regimental in his behavior.

Peter had then gone by his apartment, letting himself in with an extra key Eugene have given him in case of emergencies, but found the apartment empty. When he left the building though, he became suspicious someone was following him, a suspicion which seemed to be confirmed when Peter deliberately ran a few errands and noticed a tan sedan tailing him. Afraid to use his normal access entrance to come Below, Peter had instead sought the assistance of the Ramos Family. Tony and his grandfather had been most helpful.

"In light of our current situation, I thought it best to be extra cautious," Peter said.

"You did the right thing, Peter," Father replied.

Peter then asked about Catherine.

"She's fine," Father assured and Peter sighed in relief.

Now that Catherine was under Vincent's protective care, Vincent had many questions he wanted to ask about her time spent in Boston. Peter and Devin attempted to fill him in as much as possible.

Dr. Bernstein, a colleague Peter had known for many years, had helped him to admit Catherine under the name of Sarah Pennington to the research facility. She'd also gotten Devin a position as a night orderly on the unit which had allowed him to watch over her, but also to assist in gathering needed samples that would help Dr. Marks conceal the fact Catherine's body was not in the Coroner's office.

However, when blood samples had been taken from Catherine, which Dr. Marks had examined later, Peter explained, something interesting had also been discovered, something Dr. Marks had left out his "official" reports.

The cause of Catherine's "death" had been labeled as a fatal dose of morphine. And, though morphine had definitely been found in her system, it had not been in quite the dosage that would have been considered lethal. Instead, what Dr. Marks had found was a chemical substrate, something which he hadn't seen before and he'd asked Peter if Dr. Bernstein could run further test on Catherine's blood. What was eventually discovered was the remnants of a bio chemical that for all intents and purposes when injected with just the right balance of morphine produced the effect of "death", slowing down all bodily and brain functions to the point as to make them nearly undetectable.

According to Dr. Bernstein, it's origins where similar to a natural but potent toxin found in the skin of a certain kind of tropical frog which, according to her research had some documented use in cult settings, in particular with "witch doctors" or those dealing in "voodoo" in which the toxin was used to place a "curse" on an intended victim giving the full appearance of death. In actuality, however, the victim had been placed in a deep paralyzing coma.

In simplistic terms it was similar to synthetic drugs modern medicine used to put patients into a temporary "sleep" when they were put on ventilators, to keep a patient from becoming subconsciously combative. The one apparently used on Catherine though had been much more potent and harder to detect.

Dr. Marks had speculated, Peter went on, that this is what might have happened to Catherine. The drug in its normal half life would have slowly broken down and would have gradually started wearing off in about twenty-four hours and Catherine would have eventually woken up, but something had gone wrong. And Peter suspected the answer had been shock. Catherine had lost a lot of blood with the delivery. Having not been properly recovered from what he expected had been a forced delivery, she had hemorrhaged, and this, combined with the cocktail of drugs in her system had caused her to slip into and remain in the coma. It had been one of the reasons they had needed to transfer her to a hospital facility, for Catherine had required several units of blood to try and physically stabilize her.

Vincent took in the mixture of information with a combination of shock and disbelief. It must have been a sheer miracle or Catherine's own amazing will power that she'd been even able to make it up to the roof top that night before collapsing into his arms.

He then remembered the doctor that had drawn blood samples on him under Gabriel's orders, for Gabriel had believed a transfusion was the answer to saving Vincent's son who had mysteriously grown ill. Vincent had known differently of course, for what his son had needed was his father and the bond to be established between them.

But while he'd been imprisoned, he learned the doctor had been the one responsible for giving Catherine the fatal overdose of morphine which Gabriel had gloated to him about. And now as Vincent sat in his seat, he really began to wonder about the doctor. He recalled him to be a very nervous man, doing Gabriel's bidding and had thought of him as just weak, but there _had_ been something in his eyes that had struck Vincent strangely, a remorse, almost a guilt. Had this been the doctor's intent all along, to try and save Catherine, rather than kill her?

Peter than went on to explain that Catherine's condition had remained quite precarious. On three separate occasions she had developed unknown fevers that had left her quite ill.

When he'd reported these to Father, Father was quite shocked to learn these seemed to correlate to the same times Vincent had suffered the most in physical traumas, when he'd been shot in the Carousal House the night he'd gone to meet Elliot Burch and again when the Compass Rose exploded, and lastly the night Vincent had broken free of the electrified cage he'd been imprisoned in.

Vincent sat in shock. When his bond with Catherine had been strong before his illness, he'd always known whenever she'd been in danger, but could Catherine in her current state have sensed Vincent's plights at a very subconscious level and somehow responded physically to it? Like everything else about the connection they shared, about their love, there would always be a mystery as to just how deep it flowed.

"Do you think Dr. Marks would have had any of this information in any of his files at the Coroner's office or his apartment, Peter?" Father asked.

"I don't know. Eugene would have been very careful though, knowing the severity of this information."

Father sighed. "We must find out what happened to him. I fear he's in a great deal of danger."

Peter agreed his face showing his worry. He then rose. "I would like to check on Catherine now, if you don't mind."

"Of course," Father said, and he led his friend out of the chamber.

A short time later, Peter finished his exam, satisfied she had suffered no ill effects. Before leaving, he left Father several medications, including some antibiotics just in case, for Catherine's mysterious fevers had left him quite concerned. He also explained that Dr. Bernstein was still doing more research on the biochemical drug injected into Catherine's system and would get back to him if she learned anything more that could help to bring Catherine out of her coma.

Father again thanked him for all his help, but Peter shook his head. Since his good friend Charles Chandler had died last year of a stroke, Peter had felt rather protective of Catherine, feeling at times she just needed someone Above she could confide in and who would understand. He knew why she had needed to keep Vincent a secret from Charles, but in the end, he also knew, Charles would have been very proud of his daughter for having the courage to love Vincent and stand by him.

*****

Dectectives Harris and Ruggette watched the old man return to the garage having wasted the better part of an hour and a half searching the local diners and nearby shops. A short time later, Dr. Alcott's car pulled out of the lot and the two detectives hopped into their own vehicle still park across the street to follow only to hear a big pop followed by a vibration of the car. Harris got out and to his dismay found the front tire of his car completely flat. He looked down and discovered an old rusty piece of metal imbedded in the tire and cursed.

From the garage across the street, Tony Ramos smiled and forty-five minutes later he was pocketing an extra twenty plus the cost of a new tire. It was good to be a gypsy.

****

Diana Bennett looked through the telescope set up on the rooftop of her apartment building gazing at the stars. Though the night was cold, the skies after the recent rain were quite clear, and luckily for Diana, where she lived, she didn't have the intense light from the city competing with her ability to watch the sky.

To her surprise, she even found she missed Mark, more so lately than she cared to admit for he always enjoyed star gazing with her and then plying her with a thousand and one facts on the mythology of astronomy.

And like drawing, star gazing was a way for Diana to cathartically think about her cases subconsciously equating perhaps how different stars when connected made up a constellation to how clues linked together formed a profile. She was still mulling over these connections between what she'd been able to piece together about Gabriel's personality with the information about the rings, and lastly about what Professor Cummings had provided, when she suddenly became aware of a noise behind her and spun about.

"Who's there?" she demanded, looking into the dark shadows.

A moment later, large dark figure emerged wearing a hooded cloak. Diana let out a sigh of relief. "Vincent."

"I'm sorry to have frightened you, Diana," he apologized in his usual soft spoken deep tones just above a whisper.

Diana looked up at him. It had been a few weeks since she'd seen Vincent last, and it still took a little getting used to seeing this half-man, half-lion being suddenly appear silently from the shadows.

"Are you well?" she asked.

Vincent inclined his head, his features still mostly hidden in the hood of the cloak. "Yes, thank you." He then looked over at the telescope. "You looked very content watching the stars."

She shrugged and smiled slightly. "It's a hobby. I way to unwind, I guess you could say."

He tipped his head up into the night sky. "It's a good night for it. Cassiopeia shines very clearly tonight."

"You know your constellations?"

Vincent tipped his head slightly. "A hobby of my own as well, though I'm limited by what I can see from the park and the reflections in the Mirror Pool."

"Mirror Pool?"

"A special place, Below." His mood changed and he looked down at her intently. "I need your help Diana."

"What is it?" she asked.

"I need to find out what happened to a man."

"Who?"

"Dr. Marks," he told her.

"Dr. Marks?" Diana stared at him oddly. "From the Coroner's office, you mean?"

Vincent nodded. "Father and I am concerned something serious has happened to him."

She looked at him, puzzled. "How do you know, Dr. Marks?"

Vincent turned his head away from her, looking out across the rooftops of the buildings beyond, his features now completely concealed in the hood of his cloak. "He is a Helper and a trusted friend," he said several seconds later.

"A Helper?" she said with some surprise.

The hood moved up and down as he nodded. "Over the years, Dr. Marks has assisted us with some of the necessary tasks of dealing with dead, especially with some of our elderly Helpers who have no family to take care of them," he told her. He then turned towards Diana and from the shadows of the hood she caught the glimmer on one sapphire blue eye as he added, "And with Catherine."

It took Diana a moment to let the impact of his revelation set in. "I see…"

Vincent briefly told her about Dr. Mark's office being broken into and his disappearance.

She crossed her arms against the chill of the air as she listened and asked, "Why would anyone wish Dr. Marks harm?"

His head dropped low once again so his features were completely hidden from her. For several long seconds there was a heavy silence. "Because of a secret he has tried to conceal for us for the last three months," he finally said.

Diana heard the hesitancy in his voice, a hesitancy of one still weary to trust. She stepped a little closer to this soft spoken giant of a man and said in her usual matter-of-fact tone, knowing there was only one way to deal with Vincent's instinctive reservations to trust. "If I'm going to be able to help your friend Vincent, I need you to be straight with me, you know that."

Vincent turned around and faced her and this time she could see his features more clearly, and she saw the deeply etched worry, the strain. When he spoke next, his tone was gravelly. "I placed my trust in you once before, Diana, and you did not betray me or my world. I am forever grateful." He paused and the blue eyes then looked down at her, imploring and intense. "I must ask for this trust in you once again with a secret I hold even closer to my own heart."

"What is it?"

What Vincent told her next left Diana completely speechless and she could only stare at Vincent in shock for several minutes after.

With brevity, Vincent filled Diana in on the events which had happened explaining how Dr. Marks made the discovery that Catherine was still alive and then how he, Peter and Father tried to conceal her death out of fear for her safety when they suspected individuals within the police department would seek her harm. He also explained why Father had kept this secret from him until just recently.

As Vincent spoke, Diana watched the myriad of expressions on Vincent's face change ranging from overwhelming grief, to intense guilt at the thought he'd abandoned her, to the unbelievable shock at discovering the truth himself, following by the sheer gratitude and joy in being reunited with her, and now back to worry at the discovery of this latest news.

"And you fear whoever broke into Dr. Marks office may have discovered this secret somehow?" she finally spoke.

"I don't know, Diana, but it is a possibility that concerns us greatly. It's imperative we find Dr. Marks as soon as possible."

"I'll look into it right away," Diana promised him.

Vincent nodded in gratitude. "Take great care, Diana," he warned before once again retreating into the shadows of the night.

(author's notes: Thanks India for pointing out those mistakes to canon and for your honest critique, I am trying to give it my best effort. And thanks everyone for being patient while I continue to plug away at this. As always your posted comments and emails are most appreciated to keep me on track and help me tighten and strengthen up this story. I'm still in the process making the necessary revisions to chaps 11-17 - to correct a few errors and tighten the chapters- will get to it soon )


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